Therapy For The Soul
by Lynt
Summary: Blair's drowning at the fountain exacts a terrible cost, and in the aftermath, Jim and Blair each get a chance to walk in the other man's shoes.
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

_"Well, Chief, I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know if I can get past this. To me, it was a real breach of trust and that struck really deep with me." _

_He couldn't get the words out of his head. They kept going round and round like an old scratched record, as did his plea for understanding and forgiveness._

_"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I lost track of my friend."_

_Groaning, Blair pushed back his desk chair and paced the office. What to do now? Alex was gone apparently, and South American police were on standby at the airport in Bogota to arrest her. Jim – Jim was gone too, at least out of his life._

_The monograph was sitting on the shelf and Blair picked it up, stroking a loving hand over the worn embossed cover. Carrying it carefully, he took it back to the desk and sat down. When he lifted the cover, the pages fell open instantly to the picture of the sentinel he'd shown Jim three years ago when they'd first met._

_Blair had been so excited to see the detective standing in his doorway that day, he'd babbled some incomprehensible bullshit about the Yanomamo music he'd been listening to and watched Jim's assessment of him plummet instantly into minus figures._

_Of course, the prehistoric man comment had really been the icing on the cake, and he could still remember how his heart had almost beat its way out of his chest when Jim grabbed a large fistful of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall – hard._

_He thought he'd blown it when Jim turned and strode from the room, Blair's warning about the zone-out factor still hanging half-spoken in the air. He had no conscious memory of moving when he'd thrown himself at Jim after he'd followed him outside and saw the garbage truck bearing down on his motionless figure. Even now though, the feeling of the truck passing over them sent a shiver snaking down his back. _

_He'd been so naïve back then. Blair snorted as he closed the book. Looked like he'd come full circle._

_He scrubbed a hand through his hair, loosening a few strands from the tie, and making it look more unkempt than it already was. God, he was tired. He didn't think he could spend another night in that motel room._

'_Tough!' he told himself firmly. 'It's not as though there are a whole lot of options open to you right now.'_

_Doug Saunders, a fellow TA, had offered him his couch to sleep on for a few nights, but he didn't get back from LA until Friday. He'd lived in an abandoned warehouse for three months, after all, listening to rats skitter through the building and going to bed in his clothes to stay warm. Another couple of nights in a run-down, flea-infested motel room weren't going to kill him._

_He knew it wasn't the motel. It was just that it wasn't home, or at least wasn't where he'd thought home to be for the past two and a half years. No use feeling sorry for himself, he'd brought this whole mess tumbling down, he'd screwed up by not telling Jim about Alex and this was his punishment. _

_It didn't matter that Jim hadn't known Blair had met the other sentinel when he kicked him out of the loft. It was all connected, somehow. Karma, fate, synchronicity? Perhaps it had been leading to this all along. He looked up as the doorknob turned and the office door swung inward._

_"Alex."_

_He dutifully put his hands in the air when she aimed her gun at him. She looked disheveled and angry. _

_"If it hadn't been for you, I never would have understood what I really am," she said, not unkindly. "I owe you that. You want to know how I really got the sentinel senses?" _

_Blair nodded, though he'd already figured it out. If he could keep her talking, there might be time for Jim to get here. Maybe. Did Jim know where he was? _

'_You know where to find me.' _

_"Solitary confinement in prison. I thought I was going crazy. It wasn't until I met you that I realized what I'd become." _

_"And look how you use this gift," Blair replied sadly. "What a waste." He knew he'd said the wrong thing when her eyes narrowed and she cocked the gun. _

_"This is the one thing I really didn't want to do, but I can't leave you alive." _

_She stepped up to the desk. Blair closed his eyes. Did that make him a coward? Not wanting to see death approaching? 'Jim! I'm sorry!'_

_He jumped at the touch on his arm and looked up, relief coursing through his body, leaving him weak and shaky as she pointed at the door with the weapon._

_"Get up," she ordered._

_He still had a chance. He walked around the desk, keeping his hands out from his sides, offering no threat. As they walked down the corridor and through the main doors, he drew upon his greatest strength and tried to reason with her. _

_"Alex." He half-turned toward her. "You don't have to do this."_

_"Shut up." She shoved him hard in the small of his back and he stumbled down the rest of the steps, barely keeping his balance._

_It was almost daylight. Pink streaked the sky and Blair found himself inanely thinking about the old children's rhyme. Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. It wasn't going to be a good day to die. He stifled a terrified sob. He didn't want to die._

_He managed to look around as they crossed the expanse of grass in front of Hargrove Hall. The place was deserted; it couldn't have been later than 6a.m. He stopped as he approached the fountain, his shins hitting the concrete edge, and knew. _

_"Where's Jim?" he gasped, desperate to hear her reply, knowing her silence would leave him desolate._

_Pain blossomed in the back of his head and he felt himself blacking out, his legs collapsing beneath him. His arms flailed out for purchase as he dimly felt a hard shove in his back, and then he was falling forward, his breath stolen from him in the first shock of icy water._

_His hands scrabbled frantically on the bottom of the fountain, fingers slipping on the slimy residue built up there from years of neglect. He had no strength in his arms or legs to push himself upright, and the blackness in his vision began to change to red._

_He felt totally disoriented, couldn't figure out which way was up, felt his chest burning as he fought to pull air into his dying lungs. _

_Finally, his legs were supporting him and he pulled himself upright, water falling from his clothes and hair like rain. He took in a whooping gasp of air and choked, doubling over with the effort of expelling water from his lungs. Staggering, half-falling back into the water, he made it to the side of the fountain._

_Alex turned, and he knew he was doomed as she stalked back toward him. _

_He raised his hands. "Please," he croaked._

_The gun barrel hit him in the temple, and this time the darkness was absolute. He felt himself falling again, felt a weight on his back. He struggled convulsively, arms splashing the water. His face was pressed to the bottom and he rolled his eyes up to see her above him, her face dispassionate as she held him under._

_He took a gasping breath and felt agonizing pain shear through his chest. He thought he screamed. He didn't know it would hurt this much to die._

'_You know where to find me.'_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jim cast a worried glance at his partner as Blair startled awake once more. The young man shifted slightly in his seat and looked with some confusion out the airplane window for a brief moment before slumping sideways again, heavy eyelids closing as a sigh escaped his lips. A few minutes later, the episode replayed. Just as Blair's breathing settled finally into the deep rhythm of rest, he tensed once more, moving restlessly in his seat.

"Relax, will you Sandburg?" Jim groused, moving his lanky frame further into his seat and pushing Blair back into his own space. "You're gonna have everyone in the plane awake in a minute."

Yawning, Blair scrubbed a shaky hand over his face. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm still a little wired, is all."

He pulled a magazine from the pouch in front of him and began to flip desultorily through it. Jim watched him a moment, taking note of the pale features, the shadowed eyes and gaunt cheeks.

"You don't look wired, Chief," he finally said. "You look out on your feet."

Blair stared at the page in the magazine for a long moment then opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, his words were ambushed by a coughing fit and he tensed, bracing his hands against his tender ribs in anticipation of the familiar pain. Jim placed a supporting hand against Blair's back, rubbing softly and when the spasm subsided, pressed a glass of water into Blair's hand. The liquid sloshed over the sides as Blair's hand trembled.

"Thanks." Blair's voice cracked and he leaned back in his seat, his face looking wraith-like in the dimmed cabin lights.

"You all right?"

Blair nodded. "Just a tickle in my throat. From that tube they stuck down there."

Jim didn't refute his words, despite having felt and heard the congestion rattling in Blair's lungs when he'd coughed. Visions of Blair unconscious and hooked up to a ventilator danced at the periphery of his memory, causing nausea to surge, bile burning the back of his throat. He took a gulp of water from Blair's glass and tried to push the memories down with it. Blair slipped back into a restless slumber.

Hearing a snore, Jim turned slightly in his seat and looked across the aisle where Simon and Megan sat side by side, dozing lightly. He still couldn't believe that Conner had allowed Blair to accompany her down to Mexico. The kid had almost died a few days before, for God's sake! Should probably still be in the hospital.

He looked back at Blair, noting the pale, sweat-damp face and twitching hands, the thick wetness of his labored breathing, and cursed Conner's foolishness silently. This was all Conner's fault. If Blair got worse… He stopped that thought before it consumed him, remembering the many times he had given in to Blair's whims simply because he knew that no matter how often he refused, in the end, Blair would always win out.

The memories of the past few weeks had a surreal hazy quality about them as though they had been dreamed then only half-remembered on waking. The sight of Alex Barnes being carried from the temple, her mind overwhelmed by her rampaging senses, was only too real though.

The week before that, Jim could barely remember, knowing only that a pervading sense of doom and danger had enveloped him. He was stunned when he returned to his apartment to pack for the trip to Mexico and discovered the loft bare. He had only vague memories of moving the furniture and packing Blair's things in a frenzy of activity, feeling smothered and claustrophobic.

The guilt that swept over him now more than made up for the lack he'd felt then. It was tempered with his conviction that he'd pushed Blair away to protect him, mistakenly believing that the danger he'd sensed was to himself. Too late, he had realized that Alex considered him a challenge, a primal conquest, and Blair, a mere wrinkle in her otherwise perfect plan.

Leaning back in his seat he closed his eyes and allowed himself to slip back into the memories.

00000

_Jim accepted Megan's hand and dragged himself from the shaft at the foundry, then staggered over to where Conner claimed to have left Alex and saw she was gone. Terror replaced his anger. He heard a jungle cat growl mockingly and the wolf he'd shot in his dreams morphed into Blair. Suddenly he knew what his dreams had meant, and that Blair's musings on his territorial imperative behavior were right. Now he knew where the danger lay._

_Heart pounding, breath rasping, he fought to get the words out. "We have to find Sandburg."_

'_You know where to find me.'_

_And he did. Dragging Conner along with him, he pushed her into the truck, ordering her to call for back up. Conner hung grimly to the dash as Jim drove with his hand clamped to the horn, veering around inconsiderate drivers who ignored his flashing light and siren._

_He slammed on the brakes and was out of the truck, running toward Hargrove Hall without bothering to turn off the engine. Pounding up the stairs, he had an inexplicable urge to turn around. As his feet hit the top step, he knew. "Oh, my God!"_

_He knelt on the ground next to Blair's limp form with no memory of how he'd gotten there. Simon was shouting at him, asking if he could hear a heartbeat, but he'd known when he'd seen Blair's lifeless body floating facedown in the water. His senses had cast themselves out toward his guide and been greeted with silence. _

_The next few minutes were a blur of activity and sound as Simon's large, capable hands pressed down rhythmically on Blair's still chest and Jim tried to push air into Blair's blue-tinged mouth, alternately pleading and demanding that he take a breath._

_The EMT's had arrived and taken over, pumping oxygen through a mask and injecting medication through an IV line in Blair's arm. Finally, one looked up and shook his head._

_"I'm sorry, guys."_

_Jim gaped at them in shock as they began to pack up their gear. "What do you mean, 'Sorry?' You can't give up!" Jim shook his head angrily. "This isn't over. He's not dead." Breaking away from Simon's grip, he flung himself back down at Blair's side and began the compressions again. "Come on, Sandburg." _

_"Jim..."_

_He ignored Simon's hand on his shoulder as he leaned in to open Blair's mouth and blow into it again. They could all give up on Sandburg if they wanted. Jim knew him better, knew himself better. "Come on, buddy," he urged. 'Prove to them you're stronger than this.' _

_"Jim, let him go. He's gone." Simon's arm became forceful now, dragging him back away from Blair. "He's gone." _

_Jim slumped. "Oh, God, no." In that moment, torn between hope and grief, he saw the wolf superimposed over Blair's lifeless features. The sight gave him new hope. It wasn't over yet. He looked up to see Incacha standing in front of him._

_The long-dead shaman smiled gently and raised a painted hand. "Use the power of your animal spirit."_

_Jim dropped back to his knees and cupped Blair's face in his hands. His partner's skin was icy, the flesh sallow and blue-tinged. Gently, Jim stroked a thumb over the still lips and waited, focusing all his strength inward, believing. _

_He saw the wolf leap toward him, saw it merge with the panther, then over the sound of Megan's quiet sobbing, his hearing picked up the sweetest sound of all. "Simon, I can hear a heartbeat." _

_He tuned out Simon's frantic summons to the EMT's and Henri gasp of shock as he urged Blair back to consciousness. "Come on, Chief, come on, come on. Come on, buddy. Come on." _

_He felt Blair's once limp body convulsing beneath his hands and then Sandburg was spewing up water, coughing and choking, drawing in wheezing gasps of air as Jim turned him gently to his side._

_"We'll take it from here, Detective. Thanks."_

_This time Jim didn't fight as Simon pulled him up from the ground and embraced him briefly, his own eyes swimming with tears. Together, the team watched as an oxygen mask was strapped to their friend's face, a cervical collar snapped around his neck and he was moved rapidly to the waiting ambulance._

_Jim walked with them, one hand now gripping Blair's tightly. Blair's eyes slowly opened, but there was no awareness in them, and fear clutched Jim's heart. Had he brought him this far only to fail anyway? A hurried conversation between the paramedics and Simon had them backing down when they realized there was no way Jim was being separated from his partner._

_Satisfied, he climbed into the back of the ambulance and lowered himself wearily to the narrow bench beside Blair. Reaching over, he freed a strand of hair caught in the elastic strap of the oxygen mask. Blair's eyes were closed again, his breathing labored. "Hang in there, Chief," he whispered. "I'm here."_

_He tried to blot out the aggravating howl of the siren and focus on his partner's sporadic heartbeat, willing it to continue when it appeared to falter. Blair's limp body rolled slightly toward him as the ambulance rounded a corner at high speed and Jim reached out to grasp Blair's hand, shocked at the icy feel of it. The blinding glare of the hospital lights highlighted Blair's white features and blue lips as he was rushed from the ambulance into the trauma room_.

o0o

_Blair was in intensive care. He had been intubated and placed on a ventilator. The doctor assured Jim that it was simply a precaution to allow Blair to rest completely. Of more concern was the ominous specter of lung infections from the dirty fountain water._

_"We're doing all we can," the doctor said. "The induced coma will allow him to recover his strength and we have him on broad-spectrum antibiotics to fight off any potential infections. The rest is up to Blair." He paused a moment. "He was without oxygen for an extended period, Detective…"_

_"Brain damage?" Jim shook his head firmly. "He'll be fine."_

_Simon touched his arm. "It's best to be prepared, Jim."_

_"He'll be fine, Simon. Excuse us for a minute, would you, Doctor?"_

_"Of course. I have other patients to attend to. The nurse will let you know when you can see Mr. Sandburg, but please one of you only, and just for a few minutes. If you don't mind my saying, Detective, you look like you could use a bed yourself."_

_Jim turned to face the captain and led him a short distance away from the doctor. "I've been trying to figure all this out while we've been waiting and I don't have all the answers yet, though I bet Sandburg does. I can't tell you how I know, Simon, and I don't know if you'd believe me anyway, but Sandburg's going to be all right."_

_"Jim, he was without oxygen for several minutes after we got there. Who knows how long…how long he'd been in there before we arrived."_

_"I know. All I can tell you is that something happened out there that allowed me to bring Sandburg back, and I know there's no way I would have been able to do that if he was going to be brain damaged. It would serve no purpose."_

_"You're starting to sound like Sandburg," Simon grumbled. "It's a sentinel thing, isn't it?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_Simon sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Then I don't want to know. I just hope you're right." He looked away as a nurse approached them. "Go see your partner. I'll wait for you. Henri's bringing your truck here."_

_"Thanks."_

_o0o_

_Jim stepped up to the bed and closed his eyes, reveling in the heartbeat that pounded steadily in his ears. It swelled and echoed and Jim was tempted to let it take him into oblivion. He touched a finger gently to Blair's now warm cheek and opened his eyes when he encountered wetness. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he tasted the salt of tears. "Blair?" He leaned in closer and scrutinized the unresponsive man carefully. "Are you with me, Chief?"_

_The nurse noticed the tears on Blair's cheek and blotted them gently with a tissue. "It happens sometimes," she said kindly. "It's an autonomic response."_

_Jim knew better. "I'm sorry," he whispered, anguish twisting his features as he fought to hold himself together, his own moist eyes taking in the dark bruise high on Blair's temple, allowing the sight of it to fuel his anger and shame. _

_o0o_

_After sitting with Simon in the waiting room for another four hours, then being told he wouldn't be allowed to see Sandburg until the following morning, Simon convinced Jim to leave. _

_Sitting in his truck, staring up at the dim light coming from Blair's room, Jim whispered a vow of vengeance to his guide. Making himself as comfortable as he could within the confines of his cab, Jim cast out his hearing and anchored it to Blair's heartbeat, then sat sentry through the long dark night. _

_o0o_

_Any time he may have needed to think about his bizarre behavior in the weeks before Alex's appearance in Cascade, and Blair's revelation that he had shared Jim's dream of their spirit guides, was cut short two days later by the sighting of Alex in Mexico. Jim had hurriedly packed an overnight bag and joined Simon on the next available flight. His mind had been focused solely on catching Alex and exacting his retribution. Blair was in hospital in good hands, or so he thought. _

_The following day Blair and Megan had followed them down -- Blair looking fragile and pale, but insisting that he was all right. He had traipsed resolutely through the jungle at Jim's heels, forcing the detective to split his attention between Alex's trail and his ailing partner, his focus and control over his senses and his protective instincts wavering as they neared the other sentinel and the temple. _

_Alex had been apprehended, the nerve gas recovered, and they had returned to Sierra Verde. Blair looked spent and ill and Jim felt emotionally fried._

_They'd spent a night in Sierra Verde, resting and recuperating after their trek through the jungle. Blair had remained in his room until it was time to leave for the airport. Conner and Simon had both tried to entice the young man to join them for dinner but he'd begged off, citing exhaustion._

_That part certainly hadn't been exaggerated. Jim could see the tiredness that tugged at his friend's body, hunching his shoulders and angling his body into a caricature of an old man. And old Blair was, Jim thought, well before his time. Sandburg had seen and experienced man's inhumanity to man far too often in the past three years of his life and his sorrowful eyes reflected it._

00000

Further movement from Blair brought Jim's mind back from his reverie and he sighed as he watched him sit forward once more and reach again for the well-thumbed magazine.

"What's going on, Chief?" His hand reached out to rest lightly on Blair's forearm.

Blair turned red-rimmed eyes toward him, his look feigning nonchalance, but Jim wasn't buying it.

"You haven't been sleeping since… since this shit started." Jim's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "The other night in the church. You kept talking. You wouldn't shut up. I was getting ready to deck you. You were trying to keep yourself awake, weren't you?"

Blair sighed. "I can't go to sleep." His voice still sounded strained from coughing. "Every time I start to drift off, I'm back in that damn fountain and she's there. I can see her above me, her foot's in my back holding me down, and no matter how hard I fight, I can't get away."

His voice slowly got louder and the words more rushed. Jim gently squeezed the arm under his hand. "Is that what happened? What you remember happening?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Blair shook his head then lay back against the seat. "I don't remember any of it. I'm not sure if it's just a dream or what really happened. Like the dream we both had about the jungle."

Jim nodded. "You need to get some rest or you're going to collapse."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know, Jim."

"I have an idea," Jim said. "Lie back and close your eyes."

Blair sat up slightly and stared at him. Jim reached over and pushed him back into the seat.

"Okay, you comfortable?"

"I guess."

Jim lowered his voice to what he hoped approximated his guide's timbre. "All right, I want you to picture a dial."

"Jim!" Blair sat up, wincing as the sudden movement pulled at his bruised ribs. Then, apparently seeing the mischievous grin on his partner's face, he snorted and punched Jim lightly on the chest. "Jerk," he said, shifting back again.

"Punk," Jim countered. "I'm sorry. Just yanking your chain, Sandburg. It's good to see you smile again though." He paused a moment and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. "Let's try this anyway. Can't hurt. Now picture some place restful and warm. Try to relax your muscles one at a time, starting with your toes and working up."

Jim continued to talk, stroking his hand in a rhythmic caress up and down Blair's arm whenever he startled from his slumber. He allowed his voice to drone on, not caring that his throat was becoming dry and sore. He knew the sense of security he felt when he came out of a zone-out anchored by Blair's calming voice and hoped that Blair could experience the same thing.

The steward stopped, offering refreshments. Jim ordered juice for himself and more water for Blair. He murmured his thanks as the young woman held out a blanket. He pulled it over Blair, allowing his hands to linger for a moment on Blair's slowly rising and falling chest.

o0o

Blair slept the rest of the way to Cascade, waking only when Jim roused him as they taxied over the tarmac toward the airport building. He sat up then and stretched carefully, smiling his thanks as Simon handed him his duffel bag.

People stood and retrieved bags from overhead lockers, then began the slow trek toward the exit. The atmosphere seemed suddenly oppressive now they were on the ground and the plane's air supply was off. In the midst of the passengers crowding the aisle, a baby cried fretfully.

Blair stifled another coughing fit as they waited for a break in the line. Finally they were moving, Jim ushering Blair out in front of him. Suddenly Sandburg appeared to stumble and sink toward the floor. Jim caught him quickly by an arm and supported him for a moment against his side. "You all right?"

Pulling himself up shakily, Blair nodded before starting forward again, holding onto the backs of seats as he went. "I'm fine," he assured the others. "My legs have gone to sleep, that's all."

Jim watched for a moment then let him go. He looked back as Simon laid a hand on his shoulder. "How's Sandburg?"

"Not good, sir," Jim said. "He's exhausted but he's having some trouble sleeping."

"So I noticed. I wish we'd had you around when Daryl was keeping us up nights."

Jim blushed slightly at the comment. "It's no more than he does for me every time I have a zone-out or need to dial down pain."

"I'm not criticizing." Spotting Megan and Blair waiting just up ahead, Simon grasped Jim's arm for a moment then shifted around to face him. "I'm just relieved to see things getting back to normal between you two, that's all."

Jim looked at him, his own weariness beginning to weigh him down. "I don't know if things will ever be normal again, but I'm going to do my best to make up for what he had to go through."

"You're not responsible for what Barnes did. The kid's tough. He'll bounce back. Look how fast he was on that plane to Mexico. Look, we'll tie up the loose ends tomorrow. I'm going home to see my son and sleep in my own bed. Tell Sandburg not to rush into coming back to the station with you."

Jim's face fell at the comment, making Simon scowl. "What now?" Simon asked.

"I haven't asked Sandburg… I mean, I don't know…" Jim leaned in closer. "I kicked him out, Simon! I don't know if he's coming back to the loft."

Simon began walking toward the exit. "Of course he's going back to the loft. I mean, everything's been sorted out. Besides, where else has he got to go?"

By the time they caught up to Blair and Megan, the others had found their remaining luggage and Megan was searching in her purse for cab fare. "We were in such a rush to catch up with you two," she said, aiming a glance at Blair, "that I didn't have time to get extra cash out."

"I'll give you a ride home," Simon offered. "Here comes Henri now." He waved at the approaching detective then turned to the others. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jim. Sandburg, I don't want to see you back at the station until you're fully recovered, understand?"

"I'm fine, Captain, really," Blair insisted.

"Understand?" Simon repeated, glaring at Blair.

Blair sighed and nodded. Simon grinned and pulled a cigar from his pocket, sniffing it appreciatively. The five exchanged good-byes and Simon, Megan and Henri headed for the exit.

Jim took Blair's bag from him and hoisted it over his shoulder. "Let's get going, Chief. I'm looking forward to some real food and about twelve hours' sleep."

He headed toward the exit, then stopped and turned back as he realized that Blair was not with him. "Sandburg?"

"I'll catch a cab back to the motel," Blair said, holding his hand out for his bag. "Doug Saunders said I could move in with him just before…" He motioned ineffectually with one hand. "Before all this shit happened."

Dread and anger mingled at the words. "I thought you were coming home. I thought you said we were okay."

Blair looked up sharply at the words. "Okay? We're okay, though it's a relative term here. I screwed up. You screwed up. I'm past that. But you kicked me out of the apartment and I had to find somewhere else to live. Do you really think that I am that destitute? Even three years ago I wasn't, you know? I asked you for somewhere to stay for a week because I knew I wouldn't find a place to rent while I had Larry. After a week, it just seemed like," he shrugged, "you didn't ask me to move out and I didn't want to. It felt like my home."

"It is your home," Jim said forcefully.

"I just need us to be clear on this, Jim," Blair continued. "I didn't stay and put up with any crap you wanted to throw my way because I had nowhere else to go. If I wanted to, I have plenty of options, plenty of friends."

"You might have somewhere else you can go, but it's not home. The loft is home." Jim looked away, unsure how the other man might take the next piece of information, nervous that perhaps he'd overstepped his bounds. "I already organized for your stuff to be picked up from the motel. Rafe used his considerable persuasion with the manager to let him take your things back to the loft. If you want to move out, I'll help you shift it all tomorrow."

"I don't want to move out." Blair gave a small smile and Jim felt his shoulders slump in relief as they took another small step in rebuilding their friendship.

"Good. Let's go home and get some sleep."

Blair reached out to take his duffel bag from Jim's shoulder and cursed as the strap slipped through his fingers. Jim caught it before it hit the floor and swung it back onto his shoulder. "I got it, Chief."

Blair stood for a moment, flexing the fingers of both hands, then followed Jim out to the exit.

o0o

They made the trip home in exhausted silence. Blair sat slouched in his seat, his eyes closed, his body limp and boneless.

"Do you know when you're going back to school?" Jim hoped to fuel some enthusiasm in his partner.

Blair shook his head tiredly and continued to gaze out the passenger window. "I haven't had time to think about it. What with being in the hospital and then going down to Mexico."

His eyes flickered to Jim and the detective could swear he saw a flash of guilt cross Blair's expressive features.

"I thought you'd be eager to get back to the university," Jim ventured, hoping to uncover the reason for Blair's lack of interest.

"I am. It's just…"

Jim hazarded a guess, based on his own experiences in the past couple of weeks. "Bad memories?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you said Steve could cover you for another week." At Blair's silent nod, he went on. "Okay, why don't you take advantage of the situation and get some rest. You've been to hell and back this last couple of weeks, Chief. Cut yourself some slack."

He glanced over at Blair's troubled face. "Hey, if you think you'll be that bored, I'll bring home some paperwork for you to type up."

"I'm gonna be bored, Jim, not desperate," his partner replied dryly. "Besides, do you realize how much more information I now have to research and write up for my thesis? This is probably the most important chapter of all."

Jim smiled when Blair perked up as he talked about his dissertation but frowned as a troubling thought struck him. "How much of this thing between me and Alex are you going to put in there?"

Blair sighed and shifted so that he sat curled on the seat, facing Jim. "All of it, but you already know it won't be you and Alex. You've got to trust me on this."

It was Jim's turn to sigh. "I trust you, Chief. Really. I'm just nervous."

"I know. Remember you'll get to read it first."

o0o

By the time they reached the loft, Blair had dozed off again and it took Jim several nudges before the other man woke. Blair yawned and stretched stiffly then climbed out of the truck, stumbling a little as his feet hit the ground, but refusing a supporting hand from his partner.

Blair staggered through the front door of the loft as soon as Jim had the door open, not bothering to wait until the lights were turned on. He still looked totally drained and his legs were shaky. He cursed as he banged into something unyielding and stopped, reaching out his hands to feel for the culprit.

"You all right, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. I just banged into something."

"Give me a minute to get the light."

Blair stood still as Jim strode over to the light switch. He scrunched his eyes up a little at the sudden brightness, as though in pain. Jim was beside him now, bending a little to find the injury to his leg.

"It's okay, just a bump," Blair assured him. "I'm really wiped, man. Can we wait till tomorrow to debrief?"

Jim grinned. "Debrief? You're really starting to talk the lingo, Chief."

Blair grimaced. "Guess I've been hanging out with cops for too long." He waved a tired hand at his partner. "Later, man. Much later."

He turned and headed toward his room, but stopped suddenly at the doorway and Jim remembered. The bedroom was bare – no bed, no dresser, no… Blair.

"I got the stuff just about all moved back up from the basement," Jim rushed to explain. "Then the call came about Alex. I didn't get time to put it all in its place." He shook himself. "It'll only take a minute. Why don't you sit over on the couch…" He tried again. "Why don't you wait over in the kitchen while I get your things into your room."

Blair smiled at him. "If we both do it, we can crash that much sooner."

Jim grinned back, relief flooding through him. "All right, but if you start feeling tired, you stop. Deal?"

Blair nodded. "Deal."

By the time they had shifted the futon and dresser back into the spare bedroom, Blair was shaking with fatigue. Jim looked at him worriedly as he headed over to the hall closet to find clean sheets and bedding.

"Why don't you go have a shower and let me finish up here?" he suggested.

Blair shook his head and yawned. "If I do that, I'll probably fall asleep in the shower. Tell you what, you have a shower first. I'll order us a pizza and get these sheets on the bed. Then I can go to bed straight after we eat."

"I'll take you up on the shower but I'll order the pizzas before I go in and the bed will wait until I come out. I mean it, Sandburg."

"Okay."

Jim took his time in the shower, relishing the feel of the hot water sluicing off the grime and sweat from the day's travel. He kept his hearing turned up to check on Blair, relieved that the young man's heart rate stayed slow, his breathing punctuated only occasionally by a coughing spasm.

Exiting the bathroom, Jim was a little startled to still hear Blair's heartbeat and breathing, but not detect any signs of movement from the other man. Taking a quick look into the living room, he could see no sign of his partner. Turning toward Blair's bedroom, he stopped in the doorway. Blair lay across the futon, one sheet already tucked over the mattress, and another still clutched in his arms. He was deeply asleep, a soft snore issuing from his slightly open mouth.

Jim smiled at the sight, pleased to have Blair home again, where he belonged. He made his way quietly to his partner's side and bent to pull his shoes off. Blair stirred slightly as he did so and he decided against removing the rest of Blair's clothes.

He pushed the lax body until Blair lay fully on the bed and waited again as he yawned and shifted onto his side. Then he grabbed the pile of blankets from the desk chair and draped them over the sleeping man. He rested his hand for a moment on Blair's forehead, detecting only a slight fever, then stroked his fingers down the whiskered cheek.

As he turned to leave, he spotted two pharmacy bottles atop the dresser and picked them up. Dialing up his senses, he turned the bottles in his hand, a frown appearing on his face as he read the labels. One was for an antibiotic, and the other for an anti-inflammatory.

Studying Blair's face a moment, Jim debated whether to wake him to check if he needed to take the pills. He reached once again to smooth the tension from his friend's forehead as Blair muttered unintelligibly and slumped onto his back, rewarded as the young man relaxed and gathered the bedclothes more closely around him. Deciding that Blair's rest was paramount, Jim left the room, pulling the doors shut softly behind him.

He was more tired than he was hungry himself, he realized, so he spent a relaxing half-hour on the couch with a beer in his hand and the late news droning on the TV, then closed everything up and went upstairs to bed. He felt a shiver go through him as he automatically reached out with his senses to anchor himself to his guide sleeping below, the reassuring sound of Blair's presence reminding him painfully of what he had almost lost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Blair was already up and moving around in the kitchen by the time Jim came downstairs the following morning. He still looked pale and shadowed under the eyes, but he smiled cheerily enough. He turned as Jim reached around him for the coffeepot.

"Hey, Jim! Good morning. Let me get that for you."

"It's all right, Sandburg. I got it." Jim poured his coffee, watching his partner with curiosity as Blair stood scrambling the eggs with one hand and prodding at his mouth with the other. "What's the matter? Got something stuck in your teeth? There are some toothpicks in the cupboard."

Blair shook his head and continued to poke. "No. 'y 'outh 'eels 'unny," he said around a finger. When Jim simply raised an eyebrow, he removed the digit and tried again. "I said my mouth feels funny. Like it's been shot full of Novocaine."

Jim snorted as he sat down at the table. "Probably all those weird teas you drink."

Blair shrugged and went back to poking and scrambling.

"What are you going to do with your spare time today, Chief?"

Blair turned off the stove and pulled two plates toward him. "I should go over to Rainier and pick up some notes that I left at my office, but I haven't decided for sure."

"You don't feel up to it yet?" Jim asked, accepting a plate piled high with eggs, bacon and toast from his partner. "Take your time. You're supposed to be taking it easy."

"I will be taking it easy, Jim," Blair said. He sat down opposite the detective and buttered a slice of toast, then placed it back on his plate. "I'm just going to call in, get the notes and come back here to do a little research. I just haven't decided whether to work on the notes I have here first."

Jim studied the other man for a moment, watching as he pushed his breakfast around the plate. Blair looked gaunt, thinner than Jim had realized. "Is something else going on here, Chief?" he asked finally.

"No. Nothing. You know me, man. Always got a dozen different ideas happening at once, then I can't decide what to do first." Blair smiled at him. "I'll be fine."

"Then eat."

Blair pushed himself away from the table. "Not really hungry." Picking up his plate, he took it back to the kitchen. "Think I'll just have some juice."

"Blair…" Jim tried to hide his irritation. Couldn't Sandburg see he needed to take better care of himself?

"What?" Blair turned back to Jim, his stance decidedly impatient and challenging.

Jim shook his head and picked up his coffee cup. "Nothing."

Blair scraped his plate and Jim studied his own breakfast. Suddenly he wasn't so hungry himself. Blair headed toward his bedroom but stopped briefly, laying a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Sorry. I'm still a little tired. I'm fine. What do you want me to cook for dinner?"

Jim tried to hold onto his fraying temper. "How about I get take-out, maybe Thai?"

Blair smiled with genuine pleasure. "That would be great."

o0o

He should have known it was too soon. Blair stood and stared at the fountain, trying to still his quaking insides.

Flashes of fractured memory assailed him. He remembered turning to plead desperately with Alex, to make her see the futility of her actions, freezing and almost forgetting how to breathe when she pressed the muzzle of her weapon to his head. He'd known then. He was going to die. Jim wasn't going to rescue him this time. If the sentinel came at all, he would be too late.

Berating himself for his cowardice now, Blair told himself it was only a fountain. Hell, it was only a few feet of water. Reassured, he took a hesitant step closer. Suddenly the pounding of his heart drowned out the cheerful burbling of the water and his throat closed up entirely. Turning away from the source of his nightmares and pain, Blair fled on trembling legs.

He forced himself to stop for a moment as he approached the back entrance to Hargrove Hall. Pressing his forehead against the stone wall, he relished the coolness of the brick against his sweaty skin. Taking a few slow, deep breaths, he waited until his heartbeat approached a more normal rhythm before making his way up the steep steps.

Halfway up, his heart lurched as his legs gave way beneath him. His hands flailed desperately for a hold as he tumbled backward. His body impacted the unforgiving stone as he somersaulted down the steps, forcing a grunt of pain from him. A final flip, and then his head smacked into the ground and with a sharp, exquisite agony, blackness descended.

o0o

The call from the hospital, when it came, caused a lump of cold dread to settle in the pit of Jim's stomach. He paused to ask Joel to fill in for him at an interview and, after informing Simon of the call, headed to the hospital at a run.

Striding through the doors of the ER gave Jim an uncanny and unsettling feeling of deja vu and caused the hairs at the nape of his neck to prickle. He willed himself to calm as he turned toward the front desk and recognized the nurse seated there.

Annie Wilkes had sat with him and plied him with coffee and soothing words, the morning of Blair's drowning. She looked up, her professional demeanor in place as Jim came to a halt in front of her then smiled as she realized who it was.

"Detective Ellison." Annie stood up quickly and rounded the desk, placing one hand lightly on Jim's arm as she led him toward the trauma rooms at the back.

"He's all right," she reassured him quickly. "He had a tumble down some steps. He's got a nasty gash on his head. Took 6 stitches and he's a bit bruised. I called you mainly because he was insisting on taking a taxi back to his apartment and he's still a little shaky."

Jim nodded, his voice somehow seeming to have deserted him, and swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "Thank you for doing that," he finally croaked.

Annie led him to a slightly opened door and left him there, squeezing his arm gently before she disappeared. "He's signed out and ready to go."

Jim thanked her again and pushed the trauma room door open. Blair sat sideways on the examination table, his legs swinging back and forth as he appeared to study the floor intently. He sported a dark bruise along his temple, partially covered by a small square of gauze. A crumpled hospital gown, spattered with small drops of blood, lay over his backpack on the chair next to the examination table.

He looked up as Jim stepped into the room and a wide grin split his face. "Jim! Thank God you're here." He hopped down off the table, grabbing hold of the bed as he wavered a little, but holding a hand up in a halting gesture as Jim rushed forward to grab him. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

"They wouldn't let me leave," he whined as he bent carefully to pick up his backpack from the chair next to the bed. "Said they were going to hold my clothes ransom unless I let them call you." He straightened and made his way slowly toward the door. "So I'm really sorry, man. I know you've got a lot on today."

"Blair. Stop!" Jim finally managed to snag one arm and halt Blair's forward momentum and the verbal onslaught. The detective pointed to the chair. "Sit."

Blair sighed and obeyed, wincing a little as he did.

"What happened?"

"I fell down some steps," Blair said softly.

Jim tried again. "What happened, Blair?"

Blair looked down and played idly with the strap of his backpack. "I couldn't go past the fountain," he whispered. "I had every intention of just waltzing past there but as soon as I saw it, I knew I wouldn't be able to go through with it."

Jim knelt in front of his partner and rested a hand on his knee. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about, Chief. I don't think I want to go near it any time soon, either. So what did you do?"

"I went the back way but the steps must have been wet or something. I must have slipped. Next thing I knew I was laying on the ground, staring at the sky."

"You don't remember what happened?" Jim asked, frowning.

"Ahh, Detective Ellison. Glad you showed up." The booming voice interrupted further conversation and Jim stood. "Seems our young friend here has decided he doesn't like our company."

"Dr. Mason." Jim shook the hand of the jovial dark-haired physician, remembering him as being the doctor on duty when Blair had been brought in before.

Before. He wondered if he would, from here on, forever label all occurrences according to Blair's drowning. Before or after. A poke in his side from Blair brought him back to the present and he stared at the doctor, who seemed to be waiting on an answer from him. "Sorry. What was that?"

"I asked if you had any questions regarding Blair's injury?"

Blair was back on his feet and moving toward the door as Jim spoke. "He said he doesn't remember what happened." Jim ignored the rolling of his partner's eyes and focused on the doctor.

"It's not unusual," Dr. Mason answered. "He's suffered a mild concussion. He may have slipped, or he may have fainted. He's still recovering from the drowning and he's a little run-down. Running off to Mexico after a drowning incident was not in his best interests." He looked over at Blair, who had the grace to look uncomfortable. "You need to get more rest, Blair. How's the chest infection?"

"Almost gone," Blair said, looking as though he dared Jim to challenge him.

"You said this morning your mouth was numb," Jim interjected.

"It's fine now," Blair countered.

"Possibly a side-effect of the antibiotics," Dr. Mason said thoughtfully. "If it comes back, or if you experience any other symptoms, give me a call."

Blair nodded. "Can we go now?"

The doctor chuckled. "Yes, Blair, you can go now." He turned to Jim and shook his hand again. "You know the routine, Detective. Hopefully, I won't see you again in the near future."

"My sentiments exactly, Doctor," Jim answered as he gave Blair a relieved smile and ushered him out to the truck.

o0o

Jim got his partner settled on the couch at home, then rang Simon and asked for the rest of the day off, over Blair's protestations. He glared at Blair as he hung up the phone, then sat down in the chair opposite. "Okay, I'll give you a choice."

Blair raised an eyebrow.

"Either I stay home and do hourly neuro checks on you, or I take you back to the hospital to be admitted and let them do the checks."

Blair sighed dramatically and lay back, one hand slung over his eyes. "Hand me the remote."

He spent most of the day dozing, cooperating mostly without complaint to Jim's checks on his wellbeing. By 7PM, he cried off watching a basketball game on TV and crawled into bed.

Jim decided to let him sleep for a couple of hours before waking him and relaxed on the couch with a chicken stir-fry. He did a final check on Blair at midnight and, satisfied that his partner had recovered from his spill, headed for bed, making a mental note to set his alarm for the required two-hourly checks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

As soon as Blair woke the following morning, he knew something was wrong. He lay in bed and tried to force himself to move, but his body stayed stubbornly still, his legs totally numb and his hands feeling tingly, as though he'd slept on them. Taking a deep breath that seemed to drain his energy and make him dizzy, he called out. "Jim."

There was no answer and Blair could hear the shower running now. Jim was in the bathroom, oblivious to his calls. He had no need to have his hearing dialed up.

"Jim." Blair shouted the name, panic making his voice quaver.

Jim's voice answered and Blair could see steam billow from the bathroom as his partner opened the door. "I'll be out in a minute, Sandburg."

Terror seemed to close Blair's throat as he heard the bathroom door shut once more, leaving him alone, and he surged upward in the bed, his mind distantly relieved that his arms appeared to be working. Hoping that perhaps his condition was simply due to one of those weird nightmares where you think you're paralyzed, but you're not, he pushed the bedclothes back and stood up…

…Only to fall flat on his face, one panicked hand reaching out for the chair, sending it crashing to the floor beside him. From his position on the floor, Blair could see a skewed view of Jim as the door opened once more and he stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked toward Blair's room and whatever it appeared he'd been about to say seemed to die on his lips.

Hurrying forward, Jim knelt at Blair's side and lifted one of his arms, checking the pulse at his wrist. "Blair? What the hell happened?"

Blair tried to speak, but could only manage a pathetic keening wail that frightened him as much as it appeared to panic Jim. Tears spilled from his eyes and coursed down his cheeks as his body shook.

Jim squeezed his shoulder and began to stand, only to kneel again when Blair snaked out a hand and clutched at his arm in panic. "I need to get the phone, Chief. All right? I'm going to call an ambulance."

Blair nodded and watched Jim leave the room, trying desperately to rein in his spiraling fear. His chest felt tight and breathing had become difficult, though he was not sure whether that symptom was due to a panic attack or something more sinister.

Jim was back almost before he had the time to blink, crouching again at Blair's side. He cradled the phone against his ear with one shoulder while reaching to squeeze Blair's hand.

"They want to know what happened, Chief."

Blair shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "Jim, I can't feel my legs. I tried to get up, but I can't." He took a gulping breath of air. "It's hard to breathe."

Jim nodded and stroked a hand gently up and down Blair's arm. Blair forced himself to concentrate solely on Jim's touch, allowing it to keep him from sliding into a full-blown anxiety attack.

Not realizing he'd drifted off, he opened his eyes as something cold touched his chest and looked up into the dark brown eyes of a Hispanic man in a paramedic's uniform.

"Can you hear me, Mr. Sandburg?" The man rubbed his knuckles hard along Blair's breastbone and Blair winced and shifted under the touch.

"I can hear you," he replied, then craned his neck to search for his partner. "Where's Jim?"

Jim immediately appeared at his side. "Right here, Chief. I just needed to show the paramedics what meds you're on."

Blair nodded and gripped Jim's hand. "It's hard to breathe."

Jim looked quickly at the paramedic then smiled down at Blair. "They're going to start an IV and give you some oxygen," he assured his partner. "You'll be at the hospital in no time."

Blair looked alarmed. "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

"All the way." He gestured at the towel around his waist. "Just let me go throw some clothes on."

Blair jumped as he felt a sharp pain in the back of his hand.

"Sorry about that," the paramedic said. "Should have warned you, huh?"

"At least I felt it," Blair said with a hint of a smile, his fear receding slightly at the realization. He swallowed as an oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose and then a cervical collar was snapped into place around his neck.

"Just taking every precaution, Mr. Sandburg," the paramedic assured him. "Detective Ellison tells me you had a fall yesterday."

Blair attempted to nod over the constriction of the collar. "Is that why I can't feel my legs? I feel a little light-headed too."

"Your blood pressure's a bit low." The paramedic squeezed his shoulder and smiled, then nodded to his partner who moved to place a backboard next to Blair. "We're going to log roll you onto a backboard now and then get you onto a gurney. Just let us do all the work."

Blair nodded again, his breath fogging the facemask as his chest seemed to become heavier and he found it becoming more difficult to pull in air. He tried to ignore the nausea that cramped his stomach as he was rolled sideways, then back.

He could feel the unyielding surface of the backboard beneath him and he stiffened as straps were tightened over his chest, forcing the constriction to become worse. His heartbeat seemed to swell in his ears, deafening him and his vision grayed out.

o0o

Fear tightened Jim's chest as he saw Blair's eyes roll up into his head and he became limp and unresponsive to the paramedic's questions. Another sternal rub elicited no response, and the paramedics exchanged concerned looks before bundling up their equipment and pushing the gurney toward the door.

"Are you riding in with us, sir?" the dark-haired paramedic whose badge identified him as Davide, asked.

Jim nodded as he pulled the front door shut. Stepping closer to the gurney, he took the proffered IV bag from Davide's hands and followed the small group into the elevator. He gave as much of Blair's medical history as he could remember on the ride down to the lobby.

Once in the ambulance, the IV was placed on a hook in the vehicle's roof and Jim sat forward on the seat, only vaguely registering the paramedic relaying Blair's symptoms and vital signs over the radio. He tried to focus his senses on Blair's heart and lungs but they refused to cooperate, his fear invading them and throwing him off-course.

He looked at Blair, frowning at the ashen pallor of his partner's face and his shallow breaths. Tentatively, he took Blair's cold hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Come on, Chief. Open those eyes, huh?"

o0o

A slight bump shook the gurney and prodded Blair toward consciousness. Struggling to open his heavy eyelids, he gazed in confusion at the slightly familiar surroundings and suddenly realized he was being rolled through the doors of the hospital entrance. He struggled to sit up, forgetting about the restraints that bound him to the backboard. Looking around in panic, Blair flinched at the firm hand on his shoulder that pressed him back onto the gurney.

"Easy, Chief. Take it easy."

Blair relaxed at the sound of Jim's voice and concentrated on trying to breathe normally as he felt himself lifted and placed on another bed. A stern face swam into view and a harsh light shone in his eyes, making him wince.

He felt hands upon him, the straps gone and his clothes stripped away and then a rush of chill air that caused him to shiver violently.

"Can you tell us what happened, Blair?"

The voice sounded familiar and Blair tried to place it then gave up in favor of answering the question. "I fell."

"You fell yesterday, didn't you?" another voice asked.

"And today." He felt vague, his thought processes slow and unwieldy. It seemed as if an iron weight had settled upon his chest and he began to panic again. "Jim!"

Jim's face appeared from over his head, his hand reaching down to clasp one of Blair's. He tried to close his fist around Jim's, but he couldn't seem to get the muscles to work. Then suddenly the weight on his chest increased and he could hear his heart pounding, sounding louder and louder in his ears as his vision grayed out again and then turned black.

o0o

Jim stared in shock as Blair's body became suddenly limp and his eyes rolled up into his head. He looked at the doctor then shook his partner's shoulder frantically. "Blair? Answer me. Blair?"

His hands were pushed away as the doctor pressed a stethoscope to Blair's bare chest.

"Respiratory arrest," the doctor announced and Jim was pushed aside as a crowd of medical personnel descended upon the unresponsive body of his partner. Shocked into submission by the frightening turn of events, Jim did not argue as a nurse steered him out of the room.

"Wait in the waiting room," she ordered. "Someone will come talk to you as soon as they can."

Jim nodded mutely and turned toward the banks of chairs. Then he turned around and headed for the payphone by the entrance doors. Having made his call, he walked resolutely back to the trauma room and slipped inside, his arrival unnoticed by the bustling doctors and nurses, his attention fixed solely on the lifeless body of his partner.

He watched silently as Blair was intubated once more. Blinking back the memories of the last two times he had seen Blair subjected to this treatment, he wiped angrily at the sole tear that escaped down his cheek.

He allowed the jumble of medical terminology to wash over him – CBC, Chem7, urinalysis - and concentrated on willing Blair to wake up, not aware that he'd taken several steps forward until he stood once more at his partner's side. Reaching out to clutch Blair's lifeless hand, he glared at the nurse who rushed to his side, attempting to move him away.

"Did you come in with him?"

He pulled away from the nurse's grip and turned to face the man standing over Blair. He was young, with long dark hair tied back into a shoulder-length ponytail. His brown eyes regarded Jim appraisingly.

"Yes," Jim answered shakily. "He's my partner."

"How long has he been sick?"

"A week or so. He drowned two weeks ago."

The doctor looked up sharply at the comment and then waved the nurse away. "Go get me the case notes, would you?"

"Dr. Mason treated him then," Jim added. "He's been taking antibiotics and steroids for a chest infection. We just got back from Mexico the day before yesterday and he had a fall down some steps at the university yesterday."

He reached forward and stroked along the stitches on Blair's temple. He felt a memory nudge at his dazed mind and he looked at the woman pushing air into Blair's lungs with an ambu-bag connected to the endotracheal tube, before he spoke again. "He said his mouth was numb and he's been a little shaky."

A nurse finished hooking Blair up to the various monitors surrounding him then called out the readings as they flashed onto the screen.

"BP's 80 over 50, temp's 101.4, pulse 50."

The doctor nodded. "He's hypotensive, bradycardic. Temperature's not real high." He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and bent to listen again to Blair's chest. "He's got some rales bilaterally." The doctor looked up at the nurse bagging Blair. "Cease bagging for a second."

Jim stepped forward, dialing up his own hearing in a desperate attempt to hear air rushing into Blair's stilled lungs. The nurse obeyed and all noise in the room, save for the beeping of the heart monitor, ceased; all attention focused on the unconscious man. Jim knew his hopes were futile before the doctor spoke.

"No spontaneous respiratory effort."

He motioned for the nurse to continue breathing for Blair, then reached for a percussion hammer and pulled the sheet from Blair's naked body. He lifted first one knee and then the other, checking the reflexes.

"Set up for an LP," the doctor finally said. "Probably worth doing an NSV too, though I think the symptoms are fairly conclusive." He looked again at Jim. "Are you squeamish?"

Jim shook his head and reached again for Blair's hand. "I'm a detective with Major Crime."

"I'm Doctor Steve Carter."

"Jim Ellison. Blair's my partner and roommate."

"Okay. I'm going to do a spinal tap on your friend here. I suspect he may have Guillian-Barre Syndrome."

"What?"

"It's also known as Landry's ascending paralysis. I'll explain it to you as I work. The quicker we can get the results to the lab, the quicker we know what we're dealing with. Blair may regain consciousness at any time and he's going to be very frightened that he can't breathe for himself. Do you think you can keep him calm until I'm done?"

Jim nodded without hesitation.

"All right. Let's do this. Hook him up to the vent and then get him on his side. Detective, pull up that chair and sit facing Blair."

o0o

Jim raised his eyes from Blair's white face and looked over at the doctor sitting opposite him, the faint tinkle of metal on metal the only indication of the procedure taking place. The mask he wore mostly concealed the doctor's features, but his brown eyes were serious as he spoke.

"Guillian-Barre Syndrome is a disorder where the body's immune system attacks parts of the nervous system. Symptoms include varying degrees of weakness or tingling sensations in the legs. In many instances, the weakness and abnormal sensations spread to the arms and upper body. The symptoms can increase in intensity until the muscles can't be used at all and the patient is almost totally paralyzed.

"We've put Blair on a ventilator to assist with breathing and we'll need to watch him closely for problems such as an abnormal heart beat, infections, blood clots, and high or low blood pressure. His heartbeat is a little slow and his blood pressure is low. I already know from his chart that he was being treated for a severe respiratory infection secondary to his drowning. That could complicate his recovery."

"Could he die?" Jim whispered, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. He stroked the back of Blair's hand with his fingers, the touch soothing him.

"Most patients recover from even the most severe cases of Guillian-Barre syndrome, although they may suffer some continuing minor problems. Less than 5 of Guillian-Barre sufferers die, Detective. Blair was lucky. He was already in the hospital before his chest muscles became paralysed, so he was artificially ventilated immediately. He wasn't without oxygen long enough to suffer any brain damage. Tell me about his drowning."

Jim took a deep breath. "He was attacked by a criminal I was chasing. She took him captive at Rainier University. He's an anthropologist there."

The doctor raised his eyebrows at this information but said nothing, so Jim continued. "We think she forced him out to the fountain at gun-point and knocked him unconscious before… before…"

Dr. Carter nodded. "I read about it in the newspaper and it did the rounds here when he was brought in. He was incredibly lucky to survive after being in full arrest for so long."

"He's strong," Jim whispered.

"You're close."

"He's my partner." Jim wondered if the doctor had any idea what that meant. "What causes this syndrome?"

"Guillian-Barre usually occurs a few days or weeks after the patient has had a respiratory or gastrointestinal infection. It can develop over the course of hours or days, or it may take up to 3 to 4 weeks. Most people reach the stage of greatest weakness within the first 2 weeks after the symptoms appear, and by the third week of the illness, 90 percent of all patients are at their weakest. There's not a lot known about what causes it yet."

The sensory onslaught of the bustling activity around them was distracting. Nurses came and went. The smell of antiseptic stung Jim's nose and eyes. Someone dropped a metal tray and he fought not to cringe at the deafening crash. Further up the hallway, a woman moaned in pain. Jim tried to rein in his senses and concentrate on the doctor's words.

"Usually the cells of the immune system attack only foreign material and invading organisms. In Guillian-Barre syndrome, the immune system starts to destroy the myelin sheath that surrounds the nerve cells. The muscles begin to lose their ability to respond to the brain's commands. The brain also receives fewer sensory signals from the rest of the body, resulting in an inability to feel textures, heat, pain, and other sensations."

Jim looked down again as his hearing picked up Blair's accelerating heartbeat even before the monitors sounded their alarm.

"Blair? It's okay, Chief. I'm here."

Blair's eyes were open, blue irises almost black as he stared up at his partner, stark fear evident on his pale face.

"Can you keep him calm, Detective? We're almost done here."

Jim nodded, but continued to look at Blair, willing the young man to trust him. "I know you're scared, buddy, but you're going to be fine. The ventilator will breathe for you until you get stronger. You'll be fine."

Blair's eyes closed momentarily and a fat tear welled up from under one lid, dripping slowly down his cheek. Jim wiped it away with a gentle thumb and went back to stroking soft circles of comfort on Blair's hand. Then he tried to will away the awful thought that Blair might not be able to feel his comforting touch. He was relieved to hear his partner's heartbeat begin to steady.

"What happens now?"

The doctor handed three small vials of clear liquid to the nurse assisting him. "We'll take him up to ICU and wait on the test results. If they're positive, the doctors up there may start him on blood washes and immunoglobulin injections. They've been known to lessen the severity of the disease and shorten its duration somewhat. In the meantime, he'll be sedated and treated supportively."

"When will you know if… when he can breathe again by himself?"

The doctor paused at the hand basin to wash his hands then moved back to supervise Blair's transfer upstairs. "They'll lighten the sedation now and then and challenge his spontaneous breathing, plus keep a close eye on his reflexes to see if the paralysis is subsiding."

Both men followed the gurney and its small crew out of the trauma room. Up ahead, Jim saw Simon jump up from a chair in the waiting room and stride toward him.

"I've got other patients to attend to, Detective." Dr. Carter held out his hand. "Your partner will be in good hands. Given time and some intensive therapy, I think he'll pull through. Keep in mind though, that you're looking at a couple of months before Blair is back on his feet again. Be patient. Give them an hour or so to settle him, then they'll let you see him."

Jim nodded and shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks." He watched the doctor disappear into another trauma room then turned toward Simon.

"Jim?" The big police captain looked worriedly after the disappearing gurney and then at Jim. "What's wrong with him?"

Sighing deeply, Jim dropped heavily into a chair, scrubbing a hand wearily over his face. "He stopped breathing, Simon. He's paralyzed."

"What?" Simon looked as stunned as Jim felt. "How? Why?"

"He has some kind of syndrome. God, I can't even remember the name of it, let alone pronounce it. French-sounding. Anyway, it's some sort of disease caused by a viral infection. His mouth was numb. It causes a kind of paralysis."

Simon sank into the seat next to him and stared ahead silently for a long moment before looking at Jim. "Was this because he came to Mexico, after us?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, but it can't have helped. Damn him! Why couldn't he have stayed in the hospital where he was safe? All that humidity has got to breed God knows what germs. Why the hell did he have to come after us?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

"Yeah, you're right. Stubborn little… He'd just drowned, for Christ sake. What did Conner think she was doing, letting him get on a plane? I could have handled it without him. "

"He's your partner." Simon patted his shoulder. "Plenty of time for recriminations and what-ifs later. What are they going to do?"

"Some sort of blood wash, immunoglobulin injections. The doctor thinks he'll get better eventually but he's going to need physical therapy when the paralysis wears off."

"It's not permanent? Thank God."

"His condition is critical. It could still go either way because of his chest infection and weakened condition." Jim buried his face in his hands. "If I'd just listened to him that first night when he tried to tell me about that bitch." He looked at the captain. "I pushed him away, Simon. Kicked him out."

"Don't do this to yourself!" Simon ordered. Looking around quickly, he put a hand on Jim's shoulder and lowered his voice. "You did not drown him. You did everything you could. You brought him back from the dead. You caught Alex Barnes. She did this, not you."

Jim stared at him tiredly. "I pushed him away and left him unprotected." He stood up and motioned toward the elevator. "I'm going to wait upstairs in the ICU waiting room until they let me in."

"I'll come with you." Simon stood. "I'll give you a ride home after you've looked in on him."

Jim shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to leave him to face this on his own."

"Do you think they'll let you stay with him?"

"They'll have to." Jim squared his jaw in determination. "I'm not leaving him here alone."

Simon sighed and held out his hand. "Give me your keys." At Jim's questioning look, he smiled. "I'll go to your place. Get your shaving gear, a change of clothes. I'll drop them off here tomorrow on my way to work."

"Thank you, sir."

Simon reached up and gently squeezed Jim's shoulder. "You keep me apprised of his condition. Understand?"

Jim nodded and headed for the elevator.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Jumping at the slight touch on his shoulder, Jim looked up into the warm brown eyes of the ICU nurse.

"Sorry," she said kindly. "Didn't mean to wake you. I thought you could do with a fresh cup of coffee."

"Thanks. You didn't wake me. I must have been daydreaming."

In fact, he'd turned his hearing down to just above zero. The noise of the monitors and ventilator were drowning out Blair's own heartbeat, and he'd almost zoned out twice trying to find it.

He reached forward for the coffee cup and took a grateful sip of the steaming brew, watching the nurse's skilled ministrations as he did so. As always, his gaze quickly returned to Blair's face.

The endotracheal tube partly obscured Jim's view, but he could still see the ghastly pallor of Blair's skin, overlaid with a fine sheen of perspiration from the fever that had begun to ravage his body.

He averted his eyes as Lucy, the nurse, suctioned out Blair's tube to rid him of the congesting secretions welling up from his infected lungs. He fumbled with the dials to turn down his hearing again, so he didn't have to listen to the awful wet slurping of the suction machine.

_Two days_, Jim thought. _Is that all it's been? Two days?_ It felt like a lifetime. Yawning mightily, he shifted in the chair then leaned forward to brush a strand of hair from Blair's face. The skin beneath his fingers felt somewhat cooler, and Jim looked questioningly up at the nurse. "Lucy?"

Lucy nodded and smiled at the weary detective. "Finally, some good news, Jim. His fever's broken."

o0o

The raucous screaming finally penetrated Jim's sleep-numbed brain and he shot up in his chair, his eyes frantically scanning his surroundings before he remembered where he was.

He stood as he realized Blair's monitors were sounding loudly in chorus. Turning to check the unconscious man, Jim could see that Blair's chest was ominously still. Rushing footsteps neared, then the door burst open and the room was suddenly crowded with people and more equipment.

Jim stumbled back toward the wall as Blair's doctor leaned over Blair's unresponsive body and pressed a stethoscope to his chest. The heart monitor stuttered slightly and Jim closed his eyes, dialing his hearing back up to better hear Blair's fluttering heartbeat. The doctors barked orders, as the nurses read out an array of medical jargon, and then the suction machine started up again.

A sudden silence descended as the medical staff stopped and watched with bated breath, and then the monitors started up again, their frantic bells replaced now by welcome, regular beeps. Jim jumped as a hand touched his arm, and he opened his eyes to see Doctor Parry's kindly face staring at him with concern.

"Jim? You all right?"

Jim huffed out a breath and nodded, though his legs felt as though they were about to collapse. The doctor regarded him a moment longer before continuing.

"Blair's fine. The endotracheal tube got blocked. It happens sometimes."

"He's all right?" Jim stared at the doctor then over at Blair.

"He's going to be just fine."

The doctor's voice suddenly seemed to be coming from down a long tunnel and Jim felt himself slide down the wall. Doctor Parry followed him down, and Jim's last conscious sight was of the good doctor's surprised face.

o0o

"Exhaustion." Simon Banks crossed his arms over his chest and gave his detective a smug 'I told you so' smile. "What do you expect? You've been camped out here at Sandburg's side for almost a week. God knows when you last ate decent food or slept the night through."

Jim struggled to sit up on the gurney, closing his eyes against the dizziness that threatened once more. "I'll sleep when they wake Blair up from his coma and I can see for myself that he's okay," he answered stubbornly.

Simon shook his head and handed Jim his clothes. "You'll sleep tonight. Doctor's orders. Home, a meal, and a night's sleep. He won't let you back in to see Blair until tomorrow morning."

"Come on, Simon," Jim wheedled. "Talk to him." He lowered himself gingerly to the floor and pulled on his trousers. "I promise to go to the cafeteria for dinner tonight, all right?"

Simon held the door open for Jim to shuffle through. "Go say good night to the kid, Jim. I'll wait for you here." He hardened his heart against the pleading look on Jim's face and sank down into a chair to wait for him to return.

o0o

"So, I'll be back tomorrow morning, Chief. Be good for the nurses, huh?" With a final backward look, Jim walked to the door and pushed it open. Simon steered him toward his own car in the parking lot, insisting that he'd arrive bright and early the following morning to drive him back to the hospital.

He drifted off to sleep before they cleared the parking lot and knew nothing more until a gentle but persistent shaking disturbed his bottomless slumber. "What?"

He batted irritably at the hand on his arm and flopped over to his back. Opening gritty eyelids, he focused blearily on the dark interior roof of Simon's car and cracked a jaw-breaking yawn. Rocking his head back and forth to loosen already stiff neck muscles, Jim smiled at his captain.

"Thanks, Simon," he muttered around another yawn. "You want to come up for a beer?"

"No, thanks. I've got to pick Daryl up from his mother's. He's staying with me for the weekend."

Jim nodded. "Okay. Tell him I said hi."

"Uh, Jim?"

"Hmm, yeah?"

"You're home. You want to get out of the car?"

"Oh, right. Okay." He levered himself upright with some difficulty and fumbled for the door handle.

"I think you should bypass the beer tonight too, Jim. Get some decent food in you and go to bed."

"Yeah, good advice, Simon. I'll see you in the morning." With a wave of his hand, Jim trudged wearily into the building. He almost drifted off to sleep again on the slow ascent, but woke with a start when the elevator bumped to a stop and deposited him on the third floor.

A cursory look inside the refrigerator revealed a wrinkled apple, two carrots and something that was possibly one of Sandburg's famous mold experiments and Jim dialed down his sense of smell as he deposited it down the garbage disposal.

The loft seemed chilly and silent even with the television and fire turned on, and Jim wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, returning unerringly time and again to Blair's doorway to gaze at the empty bed.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Jim phoned for a pizza, then showered while he waited for it to be delivered. Seated on the sofa, he thought how pleased he should be to have the place to himself. No Discovery channel, no lectures about his fatty arteries, no endless Sandburg prattle drowning out the game on TV. He chewed listlessly on a second rubbery pizza crust, then tossed the lot into the wastebasket and climbed the stairs to his bed. He didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow.

o0o

There was no change in Blair's condition by the time Jim arrived back at the hospital the following day, and although he was relieved to know his partner was no worse, Jim still felt an inexplicable disappointment tighten his throat. He knew Blair was heavily sedated, knew he would only be terribly afraid by not being able to draw a breath or move if he were awake, but deep down, Jim yearned for just the slightest glimmer of awareness that would reassure him that Blair was on his way back.

Giving the monitors a quick knowledgeable glance, Jim lowered himself into the chair at Blair's bedside and pulled a paperback novel from his jacket pocket. With his ears tuned in to the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor, and one hand curled around Blair's, Jim lost himself in the adventures of Jack Ryan, CIA agent.

He was disturbed when raised angry voices intruded on his reverie. Standing, Jim placed his book on the chair then moved toward the door with the thought in mind that his assistance might be needed. He stumbled back, startled, as the door to the ICU slammed open and Naomi rushed into the room.

"Where's my son? You have no right to…" Her voice trailed off and tears instantly filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks as she saw the silent figure of her son. "Oh, God. Blair."

Stepping up to the bedside, she picked up a lax hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it gently before laying it against her cheek. "Oh, Blair sweetie, what have they done to you?"

"Naomi?" When she didn't react to his voice, Jim moved up beside her and touched a hand to her shoulder, surprised when she shrugged it off and turned toward him, her eyes full of anger.

"Look what you've done," she whispered harshly. "You promised you'd look after him."

Jim felt tears sting his own eyes as she collapsed into the chair and began to sob. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Naomi's green eyes flashed as she glared at him. "It wasn't enough you let some maniac drown him, you had to bring him back to suffer through this? You should have let him go."

Jim's eyes widened in shock. "What? You think he shouldn't have been resuscitated?"

"He'd been gone for too long, Blair told me. The doctors were amazed there was no brain damage, yet all the time, this was festering inside him."

"He's going to get better." Jim looked toward the door as it opened and Doctor Parry stepped silently into the room. "This is Doctor Parry, Blair's doctor. He can explain everything."

Naomi pushed herself to her feet, pointedly ignoring the doctor's outstretched hand. "I want Blair off these machines. He wouldn't have wanted to be kept alive this way."

"Ms. Sandburg, I think we need to talk. The situation isn't as dire as you think. Blair's condition is still critical, but I believe he will fully recover. At the moment, he's heavily sedated."

"So, you're saying that if he were awake right now, he could breathe without these machines?"

"Guillian-Barre causes an ascending paralysis," Doctor Parry said. "It is true that at the moment, Blair is unable to breathe for himself or indeed to move at all. His brain function, however, has not been compromised, and his chances of a full recovery are high."

"So that he can sit in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?"

"It won't come to that," Jim put in.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know Blair."

Naomi shook her head defiantly. "I know my son. I know what my son would want."

"Actually, you don't," Jim said softly. "When Blair applied for his ride-along with me, certain papers had to be filled out, insurance and so forth. We discussed something like this happening. I needed him to know what he was getting into. I hold Blair's power of attorney and he holds mine."

Jim stepped back to the bed and looked down at the unconscious man. "Blair's states that no extraordinary measures are to be taken to prolong his life. On consultation with the experts in the field, Doctor Parry being one, I don't consider that to be the case here. Until such time as Doctor Parry tells me there is no hope of recovery, Blair stays on the machines."

"You're condemning his soul," Naomi whispered.

"He's not going to die," Jim stated firmly.

Naomi turned back to the bed; one slender hand reaching out to tenderly brush Blair's freshly shaved cheek. "I'd like to spend some time with my son. Alone." She gave Jim a brief sideways glance. "Perhaps while you're waiting, you could find the legal piece of paper that gives you precedence over his mother."

"You can sit with Blair for as long as you like," Doctor Parry said softly. "If there's anything you need to know, please have me paged."

The doctor ushered a reluctant Jim from the room and closed the door behind him. He laid a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder as he steered him out to the nurses' station. "She'll come around, Jim. She's frightened and concerned for her son."

Jim punched a fist lightly on the desk. "What if she doesn't?"

"The paperwork is completely legal and binding, and given the circumstances of Blair's illness, she'd have no hope at all of securing a release in a court of law. Why don't you take the opportunity to go home and have a decent meal? Come back in a couple of hours."

Jim nodded and headed for the exit. Sitting in his truck, he hesitated as he reached forward to turn on the ignition. Leaning forward wearily, he rested his head on the steering wheel and dialed up his hearing, listening unashamedly as a tearful Naomi begged her son to prove he was still there.

Two hours later, Jim could wait no longer. At the nurses' station on Blair's floor, he asked the nurse to page Doctor Parry and have him meet them in Blair's room.

"There's no need," Naomi said from Blair's doorway as the nurse picked up the phone. "I've spoken to Charlie Spring. He tells me to give you a week."

Jim smiled and nodded, even as the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Naomi's next words, however, gave him no solace.

"If Blair's still on the ventilator then, I **will** fight for his rights in court."

"Blair's rights, Naomi? Or yours?"

Naomi didn't answer, sweeping past him in a perfumed rush. "I'm going on retreat, to meditate. I'll be back in a week, Jim. The doctor has my number should anything happen before then."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**One week later:**

Jim looked up as the door opened and Simon stepped into the room. He glanced quickly at Blair, but he was still sleeping deeply, the effects of his last dose of sedation yet to wear off. Simon shook his head as Jim began to stand up, so he sat back down and reached once more for Blair's hand.

Blair was due to be wakened again soon from his induced sleep so that the doctors could test his breathing ability. It was a procedure that terrified both men as Blair struggled to pull air into unresponsive lungs, his eyes widening in fear, perspiration beading his brow with the effort.

Through it all, Jim forced himself to remain calm, stoically smiling down at the ailing man, whispering assurances and encouragement even as his hands bled where his clenching fingernails dug gouges into his palms.

This would be the third attempt. Jim had been watching the clock, despising the minute hand's inexorable sweep around the face. His eyes felt gritty and sore, and he knew it would not take much to push him back over the edge of exhaustion.

He'd been visiting Blair each morning before heading off to the station. Simon had the sense, over Jim's protestations, to place him on desk duty until Blair began to improve.

Simon's reasons were twofold. He had seen first-hand the control Jim had over his senses when Sandburg was there to guide him. He'd also experienced the results when Blair was not at Jim's side.

The zone-outs were a frightening thing to see, almost a waking death, and not something the captain wanted to witness again. The desk duty also freed Jim up to spend more time with Blair at the hospital, should he need to.

So Jim worked at the station, leaving early if Blair was scheduled for some procedure or test, then stayed at his side until the early hours of morning, catching a nap on a portable bed before hurrying home to shower and change for work.

Simon had managed to encourage Jim to leave Blair when he was taken for plasmapharesis treatments, a procedure Simon could not even pronounce, let alone hazard a guess as to its detail.

Jim had told him it was a treatment where they washed the toxins from Blair's blood in the hope they could shorten the duration of the illness and lessen the severity of the paralysis.

The procedure took several hours, and Simon insisted that Jim accompany him to the cafeteria for a meal at that time, knowing the sentinel's senses would be attuned to his partner should anything go wrong.

Jim refused to leave the hospital grounds, and it was a strange encounter, seated opposite a man who answered every question you threw at him though his attention was firmly focused two floors above.

Simon had not been present before when Blair had been roused. Jim had described it to him in minute, terrifying detail, and the captain had vowed, despite his own fear, not to allow either of his friends to suffer through the experience alone again. He moved now to Blair's bedside and looked down at the sleeping man.

"How's he doing?"

Jim leaned forward protectively over the still form and continued to gently stroke Blair's hand. "The doctors are optimistic that the plasmapharesis is working. I thought earlier that I felt…" He shrugged tiredly. "I was dozing. I thought he squeezed my hand but he hasn't done it since."

"That's good," Simon answered, trying to smile.

"Yeah, I guess."

Both men looked up as two men in white coats and several nurses entered the room. "Jim. How are you doing?" Dr. Richard Parry strode quickly over and shook Jim's hand, then turned to Simon. "Captain Banks. I didn't expect to see you here."

Simon smiled wanly as he shook the doctor's hand. "I could think of better things to do, Doctor, but then again, so could Jim and Blair. I like to keep tabs on my men."

Parry smiled and nodded, then rubbed his hands to warm them. "Let's get this show on the road." He leaned forward and pressed his stethoscope to Blair's chest, then looked up at Jim as he slung it around his neck. "You told the nurse he squeezed your hand earlier?"

Jim shrugged again. "I thought he did. I don't know. He hasn't done anything since then." His voice dropped to a whisper as he continued to idly stroke Blair's hand. "I asked him to do it again but he didn't."

The doctor straightened up and squeezed Jim's shoulder. "It's a good sign, Jim. The nerve tests were encouraging. I'm confident we're on the home stretch here. Let's wake him up and see."

o0o

Blair struggled to shift the heavy weight that sat upon his chest, panicking when it would not move and his efforts to draw in air were hampered. He groaned deep in his throat in frustration, startled when no sound issued from his mouth.

"That's it, Blair. Come on, buddy. I know you can do it."

_Jim?_ The voice came from above him and Blair forced his heavy eyelids open, blinking drowsily at the blurry images in front of him. A face came close to his, a broad hand stroking hypnotically across his forehead, soothing him back toward sleep, but then the suffocating feeling was back and his eyes opened wide as he fought to drag air into his recalcitrant lungs.

"No, no. Don't panic. It's all right. I'm here."

The hand slid around to the back of his head, lifting it slightly from the pillow and he felt his breathing ease slightly. He blinked slowly and forced himself to concentrate on the sweet cool air now filling his lungs, consciously trying to keep his breathing slow and shallow and not choke on the hard tube that filled his throat.

"That's it. Looking good, Chief."

Blair tried to look up as the familiar endearment was spoken, but his neck muscles seemed lax and unresponsive, his head too heavy. Jim's voice droned on, reassuringly close to his ear, and he tried to follow the words.

"Just concentrate on breathing, Sandburg. Doc's going to take that tube out of your throat in just a minute and put an oxygen mask on your face."

His head was lowered gently back to the pillow and suddenly Jim was gone, his place taken by a stranger with a round face and a bald head. Blair panicked, his breath coming in short gasps that did nothing to replenish his oxygen and he felt his vision begin to gray out.

"Hey. Hey. Take it easy. I'm still here. I'm right here. See?"

Jim's voice came now from somewhere behind him, and his chin was lifted until he could see the familiar face of his friend above him. "I'm not going anywhere," Jim assured him. "I need to stay out of Dr. Parry's way while he takes the tube out. You concentrate on breathing and just keep looking at me. Okay?"

Blair blinked once, hoping that Jim would pick up on the signal, relaxing as the detective smiled and a warm hand went back to stroking his forehead.

The bald-headed man was back, leaning down close to his face and smiling. "Blair, I'm going to take the tube out of your throat now, you'll be pleased to hear. It might be a little uncomfortable, but just do exactly what I ask you to do and it will be over very quickly, all right?"

He thought he blinked his eyes, but his concentration was waning, his thoughts drifting. He felt hands near his mouth loosening the tapes that stuck to his lips. As the head of the bed was raised, the room spun violently and he clamped his eyes shut as nausea surged. Dimly he could hear the doctor instructing him to blow out a breath. The tube was pulled from his throat quickly, leaving him gasping and coughing weakly then a mask was secured over his face, air puffing reassuringly into his mouth and nose.

The doctor stood by the bed and spoke for long moments, explaining Blair's illness and its outcome, but much of what was said washed over him in a haze. He focused instead on forcing his lungs to expand and relax, the effort draining him physically, the soothing sensation of Jim's hand on his head allowing him to drift away.

o0o

Jim watched as Blair's eyes slowly closed and his breathing evened out, punctuated occasionally by a deep sigh. He pulled a Kleenex from the box on the bedside table and wiped gently at the thin line of drool that seeped from beneath the oxygen mask.

"What now?" He looked at the doctor.

"This is a big improvement, Jim," Richard Parry said as he pulled Blair's chart from the basket at the foot of the bed. "I'm not going to kid you, though. He's got a way to go yet. He's still not completely out of the woods with the pneumonia, but now that he's breathing on his own, we can start some chest physiotherapy to try to clear the congestion. We'll give him at least one more plasmapharesis procedure and some immunoglobulin to really give this thing a kick in the ass."

Doctor Parry scribbled instructions on the chart and handed it to the nurse before continuing. "Once he begins to regain some feeling and strength in his extremities, we'll start him on some gross motor physiotherapy. If all goes well, I think we can look at moving him out of ICU tomorrow. It'll depend on Blair a little but I think it'll be about another week before we move him to a rehabilitation facility."

Jim was startled by the comment. "Couldn't I just take him home? I could hire someone to work with him there."

"It's an intensive 24/7 commitment initially, Jim," Dr. Parry said. "Not just from Blair, but also from you, as well as his therapist. You wouldn't be doing him any favors by skipping that part of his treatment. He'll also need occupational therapy to teach him to speak again, to eat, to write."

Jim had given little thought to Blair's post-illness care, assuming he'd just have to build up his strength and go home. Now he was deeply shocked by the amount of help Blair would still need. "But I want—"

"Jim?" Simon spoke sharply from his position by the door where he had retreated when Blair had first begun struggling for breath. His face was still damp with sweat, but his hands no longer shook, and he stepped forward now to place one hand on Jim's arm. "Let's pretend the doctor knows more about this than we do, huh?" At Jim's hesitation, he tugged slightly. "Let's go grab a cup of coffee. Lord knows, I need one after witnessing that."

Jim looked at Blair and brushed an unruly curl away from his face. "Will you call me if he…"

Richard Parry nodded. "If he wakes or there's any change at all, I'll make sure you're paged."

"Thanks." With a final look at his slumbering friend, Jim allowed Simon to lead him from the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Blair!" Blair's leaden eyelids slowly opened as Naomi's familiar voice rang out. Jim watched from his chair at the bedside as Sandburg's brow creased in concentration and he managed to push his head to the side and then allowed his chin to drop onto his chest so he could see Naomi as she swept through the door. Jim stood and moved away from the bed, stifling a sneeze as he did so.

"Oh, Jim. Your allergies. I'm sorry, I forgot."

Jim waved away her apology with one hand as he fished in his pocket with the other, pulling a handkerchief out a moment later, just in time to catch another sneeze.

"I figured they wouldn't let me burn any sage in here, so the least I could do was dab on a little cleansing scent."

"M-Ma." The one word was dragged out with agonizing effort, but Naomi beamed and hurried forward to enfold Blair in her arms. Finally, when Jim thought Blair would suffocate from the crush of her embrace, he managed to push one arm weakly against her shoulder. Naomi took the hint and lowered him back to the bed, taking care to cradle his still wobbly head.

"I couldn't believe it when Doctor Parry called to say you were awake. I mean, after the poisons they gave you, I'm amazed you survived."

"Wha…?" Blair's eyes flickered from Naomi's to Jim's, and Jim wondered if his decision not to mention Naomi's previous visit had been wise. As Sandburg's face clouded over in confusion, and his frustration at being unable to give it voice became obvious, Jim interrupted the reunion.

"Naomi. It's good to see you. How long are you planning on staying?" He forced out his offer. "You can stay in Blair's room at the loft while you're in town, if you want." _Please don't want._ He felt his face heat at his uncharitable thought. Naomi could be a royal pain in the butt sometimes, but she **was** Sandburg's mother.

"Oh, I can't stay." Naomi dismissed Jim with a wave of her hand before seating herself at Blair's side. "As soon as I heard the news that Blair was recovering, I phoned Perry. You remember Perry, don't you, sweetie?"

Before Blair could make the effort to nod or shake his head, she went on, "Perry owns a little island off the coast of Australia. He runs a meditation and holistic center there. He suggested that I could probably use some healing right now to get over the trauma of Blair's illness. I'm leaving this afternoon, so I wanted to come and spend some time with my son before I go." She turned dazzling green eyes on Jim. "You don't mind letting me have Blair to myself for a few hours, do you, Jim?"

Jim had already backed away to stand by the door. He debated telling her exactly how he felt about her breezing in and out of his partner's life. Sandburg's pale, confused face, with the corners of his mouth turning up lopsidedly as he basked in his mother's attention stopped Jim in his tracks.

"Actually, I'm glad you're here. Simon needs me to go over some arrest reports at the precinct." He smiled at Blair. "Do you mind if I take off for a couple of hours, Chief?"

Blair waved a shaky hand. "Go."

Jim gave him a snappy salute and left. Once in the car on his way to the station, he gave full vocal vent to his thoughts on Naomi Sandburg's idea of parenting. "I don't believe you, Naomi," he ranted. "One minute you're demanding to make life and death decisions for your son, the next moment you're flitting out of the country while he's still recovering."

He calmed himself with the thought that Sandburg at least had appeared accepting of his mother's decision to leave.

o0o

The following week was filled with activity, once Blair was moved from the ICU to a regular room. Progress was still agonizingly slow and Blair's frustration was obvious. He'd always been a hyperactive individual; now the simple task of moving on his own was often beyond him and his moods swung from high to low in the blink of an eye.

Jim became his partner's personal cheering squad, offering a constant barrage of praise and light-hearted banter, even when all he wanted to do was go out into the street and scream his frustrations to the heavens.

The biggest milestone had been seeing Blair breathing on his own again. Only now, seeing Blair sitting strapped into a wheelchair, unfettered by tubes and monitors, did Jim acknowledge how truly frightened he'd been in the early days of Sandburg's illness. Finally, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Bree, the physical therapist, told Jim that Blair wanted to begin feeding himself. There were two parts of Blair's care that he seemed to find particularly embarrassing, being fed and being bathed.

Jim had been able to assist for the most part with Blair's care by asking the nurses to hold off on his bath until Jim arrived in the afternoon to visit. His partner seemed to feel less uncomfortable with Jim tending his most personal needs, and as it took the strain off the already over-taxed staff, they were more than willing to agree.

He still wasn't up to much more speaking than verbalizing his most basic needs, and even that was a struggle that frustrated them both, with Blair's face screwing up as he tried to make his words understood and Jim biting his tongue, fighting the desire to speak for him.

A silent Sandburg didn't sit right. Used to Blair's endless chatter, Jim filled the room with music, mostly CD's that Blair liked and Jim could tolerate. The soft regular rhythms of drums and the soothing tones of gentle flutes, even the haunting didgeridoos of Aboriginal earth music, were a familiar and comforting sound.

The night before, Jim had promised Blair that he'd come in for the feeding therapy session. A vital arrest had blown that to hell, and Jim phoned the hospital to explain that he'd be late. Knowing the staff had to work to a tight schedule, he asked them to go ahead with feeding Blair.

He arrived to find a nurse paging Sandburg's doctor. Hurriedly she explained that the evening meal had not gone well after Blair had spilled a bowl of pudding on his lap. When she returned with a second helping, he'd thrown it at the wall, rapidly followed by anything else within reach that he could use as a missile.

Jim asked her to hold off on calling the doctor and walked quickly to Sandburg's room. Dialing up his hearing, he could hear Blair's pounding heart and ragged breathing, overlaid with his newly regained voice hurling slurred epithets at every deity known to man, and a few that Jim didn't know existed.

As he put his hand on the door to push it open, Blair went silent for a moment and Jim had the eerie thought that Sandburg knew he was there. Then the sound of muttered imprecations reached his ears, his own name receiving its fair share of attention.

"Said I better… Not… never better. Liar, Jim." A sob, then a sad plea. "Where you, Jim? Nee' you."

His heightened sense of smell detected the tang of tears overlaid by the stench of urine.

His concern increasing ten-fold, Jim pushed open the door and beheld a sight that caused his heart to clench painfully.

Blair lay in the middle of the bed, his pajamas soiled with spatters of food, and his hair a disheveled, sticky mess that hid his face. At Jim's entrance, he turned a wobbly, sorrowful face toward the door.

"Shorry," he sobbed from a still-slack mouth, spittle oozing down his chin to mix with the pudding encrusted there.

Jim was at his side in a second, lifting the thin body into his arms, uncaring of the urine that dampened his jeans. "That's okay, Chief. Let's get you cleaned up."

Later, with Blair bathed and settled back in bed, a thousand apologies still falling from his lips, Jim sat beside his friend and broached the subject he'd been dreading.

"In a day or two, the doctor thinks you'll be strong enough to go to a rehab center for a while." As Blair frowned at him, Jim lifted a finger. "I know. I told the doctor I could take care of you at home but this is non-negotiable, apparently. If I want to get you back to working with me at the PD, we have to go this route."

It was probably an unfair tactic, Jim thought briefly, but Blair's major concern throughout his illness had been his unwarranted fear that he was letting his Sentinel down. He watched Blair closely for his reaction. Finally, Blair simply nodded.

"No arguments?"

Blair blinked twice for no. The simple sign language had been established early in Blair's recovery and was still a useful tool whenever he was too tired to concentrate on his speech.

Jim leaned forward and clicked off the light over Blair's bed, enveloping the room in darkness. "It won't be for long," he vowed. "And I promise I'll be there every step of the way."

o0o

"Well, well. Awake again?" Jim pushed the door to Blair's room open and walked quickly to the bedside. He pasted a cheerful smile on his face as Blair's head flopped over to look at him, drowsy blue eyes crinkling in pleasure.

"You're looking good, Chief. How are you feeling?"

A shaky hand was raised fractionally off the bed as Blair's brow creased with concentration, then he waggled his forefinger back and forth before dropping it back to the bed.

"So-so. Well, that's an improvement on yesterday, when you were lousy." Jim made a thumbs-down gesture.

Blair's mouth turned up in a lop-sided attempt at a smile. The detective reached for a tissue to wipe away the drool that seemed to constantly dribble from Blair's mouth, leaving his skin chafed and sore-looking.

"You ready to blow this Popsicle stand day after tomorrow?" Jim asked as he pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed.

Blair's forehead wrinkled with effort again, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "H- Ho…?" he mumbled.

Jim shook his head. "No, not home. Remember, we talked about the rehab center the other night?"

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat as Blair's face scrunched up and tears began to course down his cheeks. The doctor had told him that Blair's emotions would run close to the surface for a while. The stress of his illness and his frustrations as he struggled to recover would leave him fragile and moody. His advice had been to simply go with the flow.

Jim reached out now and wiped the tears from Blair's cheeks with his thumb. "Come on now. We've been through this a dozen times. You need to go and stay at The Pines for a few weeks. Just until you get your strength back. All right?"

Blair blinked once, the effort expended communicating with Jim leaving him looking drained. Jim nodded. "All right. Has Simon been in today?" Blair blinked twice, his eyes beginning to drift shut.

"No? That's good," Jim continued. "You should have heard him going off at Thomson from Vice last night. Seems the Vice fellas really screwed up a crime scene, walked all over it with their size 12 shoes, and our esteemed captain was not impressed. Bernie on the front desk tells me they could hear him down there."

Jim was talking to himself by now, but he continued to chat, regaling the sleeping man beside him with stories of his friends and his life outside the hospital room.

o0o

Simon Banks dished up a fragrant bowl of stir-fry chicken and cashews, and snagged an ice-cold beer from the fridge before heading to the living room and the basketball game on TV. Daryl was spending the night with a friend and the captain was looking forward to a night at home, feet on the couch, game on the tube…

As he raised the beer bottle to his lips, a loud rapping sounded at the front door and he almost chipped a tooth when he jumped. Cursing softly, Simon laid plate and beer on the coffee table and muted the sound on the television before heading for the front door. Jim Ellison stood at the entrance, one hand raised as though to knock again.

Simon took one look at the detective's stricken face and panicked. "Jim? What's happened? Is it Sandburg? Why didn't you call?"

Jim shook his head. "No. It's not Sandburg. Well, it is." Jim blew out a breath. "He kicked me out, Simon."

"What? What do you mean he kicked you out?" Simon reached forward and drew Jim into the entrance hall. "Get in here, Jim. It's freezing out there. God, you look like shit. You want some dinner? Good. Sit down, I'll get you a beer."

He steered the detective toward the living room as he talked and pushed him down onto the couch before Jim had a chance to react. Then he hurried into the kitchen, dishing up another serving of stir-fry and pulling a second beer from the fridge. Heading back into the living room, he saw Jim had remained where he'd placed him and was staring into space. "Jim? Here. Get some food into you."

Jim looked up at him, his eyes haunted. "Thanks." He took the plate and utensils and began to push the food around the plate as Simon placed the beer on the table in front of him and headed back to his own dinner.

"So. What's going on?" Simon asked around a mouthful of chicken. "Start at the beginning."

Jim laid down the fork. "Doctor Parry said they'd move Blair to the rehab center tomorrow. He's coming along really well. His pneumonia has settled and he's able to use his hands a lot better to feed himself. He won't be walking for a while and you have to listen really carefully to figure out what he's saying, but he's doing well."

"And?"

"He's been getting really upset about going to the center. He wants to go home."

"That's understandable, Jim. You just have to convince him that it's for his own good."

Jim nodded. "I know. Finally tonight he agreed to go. Then he told me to get out and not come back until it's time to leave for The Pines tomorrow."

"Did he say why?"

"He said I looked like shit and that he didn't need a babysitter 24/7. Especially one who looked like he was going to pass out any minute. Said he didn't think he had the strength right now to pick me up off the floor. Wise-ass."

Simon cocked an eyebrow and Jim shrugged. "Not in so many words, mind you, but I got the drift."

The captain tried not to laugh, but he was relieved to think that Sandburg must truly be on the road to recovery if the two men were bickering. "You've got to admit he's got a point. I already gave you my opinion on how you look, and you're no good to the kid if you're lying in the next bed."

Jim groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I know that. It's just… I went home to the loft. Thought I'd have a shower, order in a pizza, watch the game." He leaned forward and put his plate on the coffee table, then stood and began to pace. "It's so quiet there, Simon. It always used to be quiet, before Sandburg moved in. I thought I liked it that way. I don't. I hate it. I can hear myself think, and all I can think about is seeing him lying there, fighting to breathe, to move."

Simon stood then and picked up Jim's plate, pressing it back into his hands and motioning toward the couch. "I'm glad you came by. Daryl's away and I've got to admit that I'm not used to a silent house myself. Get that food in you and I'll turn on the game."

By half time in the game, Jim was asleep, his stomach full and a half-empty beer bottle drooping precariously from one lax hand. Simon rescued it before the cold contents could spill and wake his slumbering friend and managed to push Jim until he rested full-length on the couch. He draped a soft blanket over Jim's prone form.

"If you think I'm carrying you upstairs to bed, you've got another think coming," the captain whispered gruffly. He rested a large hand on the sleeping man's head as though in benediction. "Get some rest, my friend."

o0o

Blair stared at the hospital ceiling and concentrated on blowing a sigh of bored irritation out of his mouth. Though he was tired after a longer than usual therapy session, he seemed too wired to sleep. He'd managed to control a spoon in his hand today and feed himself an almost entire bowl of soup.

Even after he had begun to shake from exhaustion and his therapist wanted to call a halt to the session, Blair had stubbornly insisted on continuing. His effort had been rewarded when Jim had come into the gym, wondering what was holding him up and Blair had shyly, proudly, demonstrated his new skill.

He felt tears burn the backs of his eyes as he thought now of the wide grin of elation on his partner's face and the warmth of Jim's strong arms as he'd pulled him into a gentle hug. Pulling back weakly in mock embarrassment, Blair had been shocked by the deep lines of exhaustion that framed Jim's eyes, the ghostly pallor that dusted his cheeks. Not listening to Jim's arguments, he had vociferously stuttered his demand that Jim go home to rest.

Now, lying here in the darkness, feeling the discomfort of a dry throat and seeing the call button left on the far side of the bedside cabinet by an unthinking nurse, Blair wished desperately for his partner's reassuring presence.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but the nurse had already been around with the morning medication, and the faint light he could see around the edge of the blind on the window indicated early morning. Outside his room, he could hear the rapid footsteps of the nurses as they went about their duties. He debated calling out, then cast it aside. The staff always seemed so busy that he hated asking them for help.

Finally, brow creasing and lips pursed with effort, he managed to snake out a shaky arm and snag the tumbler of water from the rollaway table in front of him. He held his breath as his hand trembled wildly, several splashes of water overflowing from the cup on its rocky journey to his mouth. Just as he managed to lift his still wobbly head and bend his wrist so that cup and mouth met, his forearm spasmed violently, shooting a red-hot pain up through his shoulder and his hand clenched, dumping the contents of the tumbler over his chest.

Choking back a garbled curse, Blair flung his trembling arm wide, tossing the cup as far as he could. He lay in the wet bed, shivering from the cold water that soaked his thin hospital gown and seeped into his flesh, hot tears of rage and shame coursing down his cheeks.

o0o

Jim arrived at the hospital early the next day despite Simon's best efforts to delay him. He knew that Blair had asked him not to come in until ten, but he also knew Blair was extremely nervous about his shift to the rehab center. So, for that matter, was Jim.

Blair lay flat on his back in the bed, his face averted from the door. As he walked into the room, Jim's foot connected with something that skittered across the floor and hit the wall with a thump. Looking down, Jim saw it was a plastic tumbler. Blair did not stir at the sound and Jim became worried. Stepping closer, he called to his partner.

"Blair? You all right?" Jim could see that Blair's eyes were open, but he did not react to his voice. Really concerned now, Jim placed a hand on Blair's shoulder, startled when the other man gave a shuddering sob and attempted to curl into himself. His still-weak muscles would not allow him to do so, and Jim easily rolled the lax body over so that Blair faced him, cupping his lolling head carefully as he did so. Crouching slightly, so that he was at eye level, Jim regarded Blair closely.

"Blair? What's wrong? Do you hurt somewhere?"

Blair looked exhausted. His eyes were lined with red and the lids were swollen, framed with dark circles. Slowly, he blinked twice. Jim frowned and then reached out to gently pat Blair's shoulder. The hospital gown under his hand was wet and the skin beneath it was icy. "How'd you get wet, Chief?"

Blair averted his gaze again but Jim remembered the tumbler on the floor and the pieces suddenly fit together. "You tried to get yourself a drink, huh?"

Blair sighed and blinked once.

"Why didn't you call for the nurse?" Jim asked.

"Tried," Blair slurred. "Can' rea..."

"Can't reach?" Jim looked over at the bedside cabinet and spotted the call button. "I'm sorry, buddy." He rummaged in the overnight bag he'd brought in. "I should have stayed with you last night."

"No," Blair answered angrily. "Can't." The small effort at speech drained him and he closed his eyes.

Jim watched his partner sadly for a moment. "I've got some clothes here for you. Why don't you let me help you get changed, and then I'll go track down some juice and breakfast."

Blair simply nodded, and Jim swallowed past the lump that threatened to choke him and pulled out the change of clothes. He busied himself with the mundane task of dressing Blair.

Finally, pulling one of Blair's favorite flannel shirts over the young man's shoulders, Jim spoke up. "I'll bet you're glad to be back in civvies, huh, Chief? Those drafty hospital gowns do nothing for your modesty." He grinned widely, cuffing Blair's jaw lightly. "The guys at the precinct were glad to hear you're moving out of here too. They've already got the roster drawn up as to who's visiting when. I told them to take it slowly at first, we don't want—"

"No."

"No? No, what?"

Blair found the strength to shake his head and pull it away from Jim's hold. "No… not come."

"Not come? You mean you don't want the guys to come visit you?" Blair blinked once. "They're your friends, Chief. They've been worried about you. It was all I could do to stop them coming here to see you."

"No," Blair insisted. "Not like this." Then he was crying, soft, gulping sobs of sorrow and Jim finally understood and pulled him into a hug. "It's all right," he soothed. "I'll put them off for a little longer until you're feeling stronger. Okay?"

He felt Blair's head nod against his chest and he sat a moment longer, gently rocking the distraught man in his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Jim hoisted Blair's backpack higher on his shoulder, then smiled at the ambulance attendant before gripping the handles of the wheelchair. "Thanks," he said, "I can take it from here."

"You sure you don't need a hand? He doesn't look too steady there," the attendant said, pointing his chin toward Blair, who lolled in the chair, struggling to keep himself upright.

Jim shook his head. "We'll be fine. Thanks for the ride."

The attendant shrugged and cracked his gum. "It's what they pay me for. Take it easy."

Jim reached a hand forward and squeezed Blair's shoulder. "You okay there, Chief?" He smiled as a hand was raised from Blair's lap and a shaky thumbs-up took shape. "All right. Let's go meet the gang."

He pushed the wheelchair slowly toward the sliding doors of the rehab center, his sight dialed up to take in any miniscule bump that could cause Blair to lose his already-precarious balance.

Jim had wanted to bring Blair here in his own vehicle, hoping to retain some small measure of control over their lives. The doctors, however, had vetoed the idea, maintaining that Blair was not yet strong enough to sit upright for the half-hour trip out to the center. Jim had conceded to their better judgement, guilt at considering his own feelings first washing over him. Blair had insisted, even in the ambulance, on sitting up next to Jim on the bench, decisively piling his bags onto the gurney, his determined face daring anyone to do something about it. Only Jim's tight grip around his waist had kept him from falling flat on his face.

"Pretty nice place, huh, Chief?" Jim said conversationally as they neared the entrance doors. He had heard Blair's heart rate increase exponentially the closer they came to the center, and he was desperate now to put him at ease.

It was indeed an attractive place. Jim let his gaze wander over the wide expanses of green lawns, their edges framed with brightly colored flowering shrubs. Just beyond the rehab building was a tennis court, and beyond that, judging from the chlorine that tickled his nose and caused him to sneeze, the hydrotherapy rooms.

"Dial it down," his guide slurred from the wheelchair, and Jim grinned widely.

"Always on duty, huh, Chief?"

"Don…' for…get it," Blair answered, cheerfully enough, and Jim allowed himself to relax just a little.

He pushed the chair through the sliding doors and up to the reception desk. A dark-haired, dark-skinned woman was seated in front of a computer monitor, typing industriously. As the two men approached, she looked up from her work and smiled. "May I help you?"

"I'm Jim Ellison." The detective laid a hand on Blair's shoulder. "This is Blair Sandburg. He's, I mean, Blair…"

"I'll take it from here, Marian." A strong voice came from along the corridor, and Jim looked up to see a robust, middle-aged woman dressed in a uniform of white tunic and slacks striding toward them. As she came closer, she stuck out a hand and shook Jim's warmly. "Detective Ellison. I'm Harriet Jones, the nurse in charge of Blair's floor. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Crouching, she looked at Blair then repeated her welcoming gesture to him. "You must be Blair. My, you're a handsome one. I'll have all the staff fighting over you."

Jim grinned as Blair blushed hotly. "It's the same wherever we go," Jim said dryly.

"Right then." The nurse straightened and reached out a hand for Blair's backpack and suitcase. "Why don't you leave Blair's bags here with Marian, and I'll get an orderly to bring his things to his room shortly. It's rest time right now, and I don't want to disturb the patients. I'll take your friend to his room and get him settled in. Why don't you come back around 3 this afternoon?"

"I thought I could stay with him for a while," Jim answered, his hand tightening unconsciously on his partner's shoulder.

The nurse shook her head and reached for the handles of the wheelchair. "Mark, that's Blair's roommate, had a very grueling session in the pool this morning. I'm sure you wouldn't want to disturb his rest." Her eyes seemed to glitter menacingly, and Jim felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

Harriet took advantage of Jim's hesitation and pushed off down the corridor. "Good. We'll see you in a couple of hours."

"Wait a minute." Jim dropped Blair's bags to the floor and hurried after the rapidly disappearing duo. He reached out an arm and snagged her shoulder, turning her to look at him. "You didn't tell me what room number."

"Room 245."

Jim nodded, filing the information away, then stepped quickly in front of the wheelchair before she could take off again. "Blair? You okay with this?"

Blair paused a moment as though considering the question. "Go," he finally whispered. "I'm 'kay." He nodded, emphasizing his determination, then reached out a shaky hand and squeezed Jim's weakly. "Don…' forget… come back, 'kay?"

Jim shook his head and ruffled Blair's hair. "I'll see you in a bit."

He stood then and walked back to the reception desk, his hands fisted tightly at his side. "I'm not going anywhere, lady," he muttered as he strode out the front door.

Whistling to himself, Jim headed toward a sunny bench and sat himself down. Then he cast out his sensory net, relaxing only when he had Blair's heartbeat firmly pinned down. Making himself comfortable, he settled in for a couple of hours of eavesdropping.

o0o

Blair attempted to clumsily unpack his belongings as he balanced precariously in the wheelchair. An impatient look from Nurse Jones as his bathroom bag slipped from his still-numb fingers and clattered to the floor had him reddening with embarrassment. Quickly, he glanced over at the slumbering form in the next bed, but the other man slept on.

Nurse Jones picked up the small bag from the floor and set it on the bedside cabinet. "Tell you what," she said, her voice kindly enough. "Why don't I get you started on your physical therapy, and then Mark can get his rest. By the time we're done, it'll be visiting hours, and your friend will be here."

Blair smiled, nodded, and allowed the nurse to push him from the room. By the time they reached their destination, he was drooping with exhaustion from the long trip. He tensed as the orderly accompanying them pushed open the double swing doors and Harriet pushed his chair into the enormous room.

o0o

"No!"

Jim startled awake at the shout, and then recoiled from the thundering sound of Blair's racing heartbeat in his ears. He staggered to his feet, berating himself loudly for having lowered his guard. Quickly, he strode back through the entrance doors of the rehab center, increasing his pace as Blair choked out his name.

"Where's Blair?" Jim asked of the startled woman at the reception desk. It was not the same one as before and Jim cursed. Then he turned away, hurrying along the corridor, focusing only on his partner's racing heartbeat, oblivious to those people he pushed aside in his rush.

His search took him out a rear door and through a long hallway that appeared to connect the buildings. Jim's heart sank as he zeroed in on his terrified partner and he recognized the unmistakable smell of chlorine. Blair's voice echoed shatteringly against his eardrums as Jim sped the rest of the way through the seemingly unending hallway.

"No! Can't. Don't make… No!"

Jim could hear the voice of the nurse they'd met earlier, her words soothing, but her tone edged with impatience. "Come now, Blair. Don't be so foolish. The doctor ordered hydrotherapy and the sooner we start, the sooner you'll be well. It's only water."

"Get your hands off of him," Jim shouted as he pushed open the doors to the poolroom. He took in the scene in front of him at a glance. The nurse from earlier stood at Blair's side, one of Blair's skinny arms clasped in her meaty fist. A man dressed in swim-shorts stood knee-deep on the steps that led into the pool, his mouth open in surprise at the intrusion.

The two burly orderlies holding a shaking, white-faced, boxer-clad Sandburg in their grasp looked up at the sentinel's enraged roar, and did just what he demanded. Jim watched in horror as his partner teetered at the edge of the pool for just a moment, then fell into the water, sinking almost immediately to the bottom.

Jim dived in after Blair without conscious thought, angling himself downward to grasp a frantically waving arm. Getting a tight grip on Blair's wrist, he pulled the sputtering man to the surface. Blair still struggled in Jim's grip, despite his efforts to reassure him.

"Sandburg! It's okay, buddy. I've got you."

Twice, Blair flailed away from him in his fear, his breath becoming more panicked by the second. Finally, Jim managed to hug him close to his chest.

"That's it, Chief. Settle down." Jim got Blair onto his back, one hand hooked under his chin, and began to swim back toward the side of the pool. He looked up as a hugely muscled forearm was stuck in front of his nose.

"Let me help you with him," the orderly said.

Jim hesitated a moment, then acquiesced and allowed the men to pull Blair's shivering body from the water. He clambered out himself and hurried quickly to Blair's side, nodding gratefully as a large warm towel was pushed into his hands. He wrapped it firmly around Blair's body then enfolded the disoriented man in a comforting embrace.

"What on earth are you doing?' the nurse sputtered in outrage. "This area is off-limits to everyone except staff and patients."

Jim tuned her out, concentrating on the distressing sounds of Sandburg coughing and gagging. He dialed up his hearing again and listened to Blair's lungs, relieved to hear no sounds of fluid. He patted Blair firmly on the back as he spluttered. "You're okay, Chief. You're okay."

Don't… make…please," Blair whispered. " Not pool…" He pulled away slightly from Jim's grasp and looked up, his red-rimmed eyes wide. "Jim! Tell… Not pool."

"Shh," Jim soothed, feeling Blair's heartbeat finally begin to settle. "It's all right. You don't have to go in there." Once he was sure that Blair had calmed, Jim hoisted his partner into his arms and turned toward the nurse. "Show me to Blair's room, and then I want to speak to whoever's in charge."

Nurse Jones set her jaw. "Doctor Morris ordered hydrotherapy to begin this afternoon. I'm only following orders."

"Blair drowned a few weeks ago," Jim said, lowering his voice in deference to his still-quaking partner. "Tell the doctor I want to talk to him."

The two glared at each other in a standoff. Then Nurse Jones sighed and pointed to the wheelchair. "Put him in the wheelchair and I'll show you to his room."

Jim shook his head. "I'll carry him back and help him get dressed."

The nurse nodded and led the little entourage from the hydrotherapy room. Jim deposited Blair on the bed in his room, acknowledging the other occupant with a terse nod. The other man smiled back, and then reached out a trembling arm to the bar that hung suspended in front of him. He shook his long hair from his face, and swore softly as the bar spun away from his grasping fingers, and reached for it again.

"Here." Jim crossed the room and grabbed hold of the rampant bar, holding it steady until the man in the bed could grasp hold and pull himself up.

"Thanks."

Jim shook his head. "No problem. Can I help you with anything else?"

"No. I'm fine. Thanks."

Jim forced a smile to his lips that eased the tension in his jaw. "Sure. I, um, better…" He motioned over his shoulder to where Blair lay on the other bed, shivering despite being swathed in a large towel, his eyes still somewhat glassy.

The young man nodded and sat back, watching with undisguised interest.

o0o

Mark Cameron looked on curiously as the tall man gently sat the smaller one up on the bed and stripped the towel from his shoulders before bundling the shivering form, clad only in a pair of swim shorts, under the bedclothes. Then he turned and rummaged through the suitcase balanced on the chair, pulling sweats and thick socks from within.

"He okay?"

"What?" The large man looked up and glanced at him quickly before his gaze flickered back to the man in the bed. "Oh, yeah. He'll be okay. He took an unscheduled dip in the pool. Kind of freaked him out."

Mark watched as he leaned over the other man once more, cupping the shivering man's chin in a large but seemingly gentle hand. "Blair? You back with me, Chief?"

The smaller man, Blair, slowly blinked his eyes and looked around the room, then fixed his gaze upon the big man. "Jim?" The voice was slightly slurred, but the other man, Jim, smiled widely at the words.

"How you doing? How about we dry you off and get some warm clothes on you?"

Blair seemed to stiffen, then his entire body folded in upon itself and Jim caught him up in a tight hug. "No pool, 'kay, Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "No pool, Chief. I promise."

Mark and Jim both looked up as Nurse Jones knocked at the open door. "Dr. Morris will see you now, Detective."

"Give me a minute or two to dry him off and I'll be with you," Jim answered, turning his attention back to Blair.

The nurse took a step into the room. "Why don't you let me do that?" she suggested as she pulled several towels from a closet by the door. "The doctor is a busy man."

"That okay with you, Chief?"

Blair nodded, though he seemed to eye the nurse apprehensively, Mark thought. "I'll keep an eye on him," he offered.

Jim smiled at him. "Thanks. I'll be back shortly."

Mark lowered himself back onto his pillows with some difficulty and watched as Nurse Jones proceeded to dry and dress the other man with a gentleness that belied her bulk.

"So, Harry, who's on tonight?" he asked, grinning as his words got the expected reaction and the nurse turned to spear him with a mock glare.

"How many times have I told you it's Harriet, not Harry?" the nurse scolded. "Melissa's on tonight," she relented. She smiled as the young man's eyes lit up in delight.

"Cool."

"Hmmph," she muttered, turning back to her other charge. Gently, she stroked a hand across Blair's forehead, smoothing the still-damp hair from his face. "How's that, sweetie? Better?" Blair nodded but did not speak, his eyes studiously avoiding hers. "I'm sorry, Blair," Harriet continued. "I didn't know about your drowning. I was just following doctor's orders."

Blair nodded again, a soft sob hiccuping from his throat. "'S'kay."

Harriet smiled. "Now, if you're feeling better, let me introduce you to your roommate."

Mark waved a loose wrist. "Hey, man. That was quite an entrance you made. Who's the super-hero?"

Blair looked over at him, a smile tugging lopsidedly at his lips. "'Tective Ell'son," he slurred, his eyelids beginning to droop. "Jim. Partner." He brought one hand up and patted his chest with a concentrated effort. "Blair."

"You're a cop?" Mark said. "That's cool, man. I got nothing against cops."

Blair shook his head. "No, Jim's cop. I'm a anth…anth…" He sighed heavily and frowned. "I teach."

Mark nodded. "Mark Cameron, muscular dystrophy. What's your problem?"

Blair waved the question away as his eyes closed and his voice trailed off. "Can't say it."

"That's cool," Mark said. He settled back in the bed and watched the other man sleep, wishing he had someone like Jim to watch out for him, and counting the hours till luscious Nurse Melissa came on duty.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

It had been an exhausting week since Blair's arrival at The Pines. Jim had spoken to the doctor, who had apologized profusely for his oversight regarding the hydrotherapy, and agreed that Blair could have all his physical therapy in the gym. Blair still felt a little embarrassed over freaking out the way he had, but he still became dry-mouthed at the very thought of the pool.

He was slowly becoming stronger and regaining more control of his hands. The day before, he had typed out a letter to his mother, and had felt as pleased a five-year old when Jim had praised his efforts and promised to mail it to her. He still had difficulty cutting up his food, and his words slurred a little when he was tired.

Jim was visiting as often as he could, though he'd been handling a difficult case at work for the past week, and his visiting hours had been limited to a quick visit before work and a longer one after dinner. Then he would stay and chat until Blair fell asleep, cheerfully regaling Blair and Mark, and often an enamored nurse or therapist, with stories from the precinct and the apartment building.

He often arrived laden with goodies for Blair, gifts from his friends from both the precinct and the University. He had broached the subject of others visiting but Blair remained stubborn, insisting that he needed more time.

Finally, this morning, seeing the weariness that hunched Jim's shoulders when he'd come to visit straight from a stakeout, Blair had relented. He agreed that Simon could come to visit, and that he'd think about seeing the others in a few days. Then he repeated his performance of a few weeks before and threw Jim out, ordering him not to return until the following evening.

00000

Blair sat in his wheelchair in the gym and regarded his latest nemesis with a jaundiced eye.

"Come on now, Blair. Just one more try and I promise we'll stop."

Blair forced his heavy head up from where it had drooped toward his chest and eyed the physical therapist with undisguised skepticism. "How do I know you're tell… truth," he panted, frowning as his weariness caused his tongue to stumble over the words.

Mandy grinned at him, twin dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Now Blair, would I lie to you?" When he still hesitated, she sighed and stepped closer, squatting down in front of the wheelchair to look at him. "I know you're scared of falling, but I promise you I won't let that happen. I'll be right here in front of you the whole way. The minute I think you can't support your weight, I'll take over."

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Little thing like you?"

Mandy chucked him on the chin. "Don't let the size fool you, sport. I'm stronger than I look. How about it?"

Blair puffed out a breath and nodded, inordinately pleased to see the wide smile that lit up Mandy's pretty face. Taking as tight a grip as he could on the arms of his chair, and with Mandy pulling on his upper arms, he hauled himself upright.

The room did a slow roll and he felt himself go hot, then cold. "Oh, God," he murmured. "Think I'm gonna be sick."

"No, you're not. It's just nerves and the fact you've been chair-bound for too long. Take a couple of slow deep breaths."

Blair complied and felt his upset stomach begin to settle. Leaving one hand on Mandy's shoulder for support, he stretched out for the horizontal bar with the other. His knees buckled slightly at the sudden weight as Mandy placed his other hand on the bar, but true to her word, she reacted in a split second, grasping him around the waist and hauling him up against her small frame. Slowly, Blair pushed up and locked his knees, then took a shaky step forward.

By the time he reached the end of the bars, he was dripping with perspiration, his shaky arms barely holding him up. His left foot refused to lift as he swung it through and he stumbled, a frightened cry torn from his throat as he felt himself topple forward.

"It's okay. I've got you." His fall was halted as Mandy grasped him under the arms, allowing his head and upper body to drop against her as he heaved great gasps of air. Carefully, she lowered them both to the floor, kneeling beside him as he fought to catch his breath.

Grinning widely, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his sweaty cheek. "My hero."

00000

"Hey, Blair!"

Blair looked up and smiled as he laboriously pushed his wheelchair through the doorway of the TV room.

"How did it go, man?" Mark asked from his corner of the room, where he sat and hogged the remote.

"Not bad." Blair shrugged nonchalantly. "I walked four steps… before I went down flat on my ass."

"All right!" Mark crowed, slapping Blair's hand in a weak high five. "Way to go."

Blair grinned sheepishly and leaned forward to whisper quietly in his new friend's ear. "I hear Melissa's drawn our floor tonight. Feel up to a little party?"

Mark dropped his voice accordingly. "You bet. What have you got in mind?"

"Let's call in a pizza," Blair suggested.

"Sure," Mark agreed willingly, then frowned. "Oh, hey, I've used up all my allowance for this week."

"That's okay," Blair answered, feeling generous after his supreme effort in the gym. "I can float you a loan." He clumsily shifted himself from the wheelchair to the couch, waving away help from the well-meaning orderly. "I got it, Frank. I got it."

"You're lucky, you know," Mark said when they were finally alone.

"What do you mean?" Blair asked. "This is lucky?" He indicated his painfully thin body with a hand that still shook.

"Hey, I know what you're talking about," Mark replied, waving a hand over his own emaciated shape. "No, I mean to have Jim and all those other friends."

"You've got a family, haven't you?"

"Not so you'd notice." Mark stared at the TV screen. "My parents dumped me here when I was sixteen so I wouldn't embarrass them. My dad's head honcho of a big computer firm. They entertain a lot. It wouldn't do for anyone to see their crippled son. They haven't visited me in over four months," he said softly. "They send me an allowance." He laughed. "Enough to buy anything I want. Except out of here."

"What about friends?" Blair asked.

"They kind of dropped by the wayside when I got too weak to go out and have fun."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, man. Anyway, I shouldn't be raining on your parade. Four steps, huh? That's cool."

The two sat in silence for some time before a voice startled them both. "Hey, Mark. Hey, Blair. Anything good on the TV?"

Both men turned and graced the pretty young nurse in the doorway with delighted smiles. "Hey, Mel," Mark said. "You up for pizza and a game of cards? Blair's buying."

00000

Blair shifted slightly in the bed as a chill passed over him. He fumbled for the bedclothes and tried to pull them back over his chest. When the covers resisted his efforts, he opened drowsy eyes. "W'a'ss wron'?"

A dark blurred shaped hovered over Blair's bed. "Shh, Blair. You'll wake Mark. I just need your arm."

So it was a nurse, Blair thought fuzzily. "What for?" Blair felt his arm pulled from under the warmth of the blankets, and then the nurse was tapping at his elbow.

"Doctor wants you to have a sedative. He says you haven't been sleeping too well."

Blair shook his head. "No, I… Ow!" He jumped at the prick of the needle on the inside of his arm and shuddered as cold liquid snaked up his arm. "I didn't… I don't—" He broke off as he cracked a huge yawn. Suddenly, a delicious lassitude overtook him, and he descended into a deep and dream-filled slumber.

00000

Jim jumped from his vehicle and hurried along the path toward the rehab center. He fumbled awkwardly with the electronic car lock on the key. He'd been forced to use a rental car when he crashed his own that afternoon chasing a suspect. He almost dropped the laptop that balanced precariously on top of the textbooks in his arms.

Blair had been asking for some work to do now that his coordination was finally beginning to improve. He'd turned his nose up at Jim's first half-joking suggestion that the detective bring in his paperwork, and asked Jim to pick up books and computer discs that he arranged to borrow from a friend at the university about the cultural history of Mexico. Both men knew that he could not work on his dissertation here at the hospital. The subject was too sensitive and the chance of information leaking out too great.

A last minute tip-off by a snitch had meant the arrest of a gunrunner that Major Crimes had been tracking for months. It had been a collar too good to give up, and now Jim was late. He checked his watch, almost capsizing his load once more, and groaned. Only a half-hour of visiting time left. Maybe he could cajole Nurse Jones into letting him have some extra time. He wondered if Blair and Mark had left the last box of chocolates intact. It would do nicely as bribery.

He nodded at the nurse sitting at the desk as he made his way to his partner's room. Pushing open the door with his foot, he made it inside without losing his load and placed it gratefully on Blair's empty bed. "Hey, Chief. Sorry, I'm late. Cappy called in a last minute tip-off and we managed to catch Bobby O'Hara with his hands full."

He stood at the side of the bed, panting slightly from his headlong dash, and regarded his partner. Blair sat in his wheelchair by the window. He did not turn around at Jim's words. In fact, he didn't acknowledge him at all. "Blair? I said I was sorry. I know I should have called."

Blair turned the chair then, and raised sad, reddened eyes to Jim. "Mark's dead," he whispered.

Jim moved quickly to his friend's side and crouched down next to the chair. "Oh, God, Blair. I'm sorry. When did this happen?"

"I woke up this morning and he was dead in his bed." He looked again at Jim. "We ate pizza last night and played cards."

Jim reached out and squeezed Blair's hand. His flesh was icy to the touch, and looking at his friend more closely, Jim could see that Blair's skin had an unhealthy gray tinge to it. "How long have you been sitting here?" he asked gently. "Come on, let's get you into bed and get you warmed up. Then we'll talk."

Blair pulled his hands from Jim's grasp with surprising strength, something that would have cheered Jim under other circumstances. "I don't want to stay here, Jim. I want to go home."

"You know you can't go home yet," Jim said gently. "Come on. Get into bed."

"No!" Blair shouted. He pushed on the wheels of the chair so that it rolled back toward the wall. "I want to go home."

"You're not strong enough yet," Jim countered. "You're only just learning to feed yourself again and speak. You're not walking yet. The doctor said it's going to be at least another week, Blair. You know that."

"I don't care," Blair said, setting his jaw. "I can look after myself."

"Look, I know you're upset about Mark, but I can't take you home. I'm sorry Mark died, but he had a chronic, debilitating illness. You knew there was a chance that this could happen. Maybe pneumonia—"

Blair shook his head. "He was fine," he said angrily. "We ate pizza. Something happened."

"What?"

"I don't know. I woke up. There was a nurse here."

"When you found Mark?"

Blair shook his head impatiently. "Last night. During the night." His face seemed to crumple for a moment then he shook himself and pushed the wheelchair back toward Jim. "Please don't leave me here, Jim. I'll die too."

"Don't be silly," Jim answered, then immediately regretted the words. Looking around, he found a spare blanket draped over the end of Blair's bed. Grabbing it, he moved forward and laid it around Blair's shivering shoulders. "You're in shock, Sandburg. That's understandable after what you've been through."

"I'll look after myself," Blair continued. "I promise. You won't need to do anything for me. You could send for my mom."

"You can't go home yet," Jim said, becoming exasperated. "Why don't I see if I can find Dr. Morris? See if he can give you something to help you sleep."

"No!" Blair screeched. Reaching up, he flung the blanket from his shoulders and surged up out of the wheelchair. Taken by surprise, Jim barely had time to catch him before they both tumbled to the floor.

"Shit! Blair, are you okay?"

Blair writhed his way out of Jim's protective hold and crawled back to the wheelchair. He dragged himself up into the seat, slapping away Jim's hands as he reached to help. "Get out," he ordered. "I don't need your help."

Jim took a step back from the infuriated man. "Blair…"

Blair turned blazing eyes on him from the sanctuary of his chair. "You heard me," he hissed. "Get out. You know all that stuff I spouted at you before? That it's all about friendship? Well, it was a crock of shit. It's about give and take, man. Simple as that. An exchange of information. Nothing more."

Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he stumbled over the hateful words. Jim's face grew as pale as Blair's own. "You kicked me out before. Now, you can finally get rid of me and not have to feel guilty about it."

Jim's mouth dropped open at the accusation. "I don't want to get rid of you. You're my friend. My partner. My guide."

"Crippled guide," Blair spat. "No good to anyone. Go on, leave. Don't worry, Jim. Your secret's safe with me."

Jim stood silently for a moment, then turned on his heel and left the room.

00000

Blair sank back weakly into the chair as the anger that had held him in its grip suddenly dissipated, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted. He watched as the door to his room swung slowly shut, leaving him alone.

Alone.

He looked toward Mark's bed. No, he corrected. Not Mark's bed. Mark was dead. Just like he had been, in the fountain. Mark was dead, but he wasn't. He should have died in the fountain, but Jim wouldn't let him.

Jim.

He jumped as a gust of wind caused branches from a tree to tap loudly against the window, and he shivered at the sight of the rain as it drizzled down the glass. The words he'd hurled at Jim came back now to scorn him, and he dragged himself up out of the chair as panic threatened to overwhelm him. What if he was too late?

00000

Jim headed to his truck at a run, not stopping until he climbed into the cab and shut the door. He sat, breathing heavily and staring silently through the front windshield as the first drops of winter's rain began to spatter against the glass.

Blair's angry words reverberated in his head. Surely Blair didn't really think that he wanted to get rid of him. He was just upset over Mark's death. Wasn't he? He knew that he couldn't take Blair home yet. He was beginning to build up more strength, but he still needed to be watched 24 hours a day, and he still required intensive physical and occupational therapy.

"Shit!"

Jim slammed his fist against the steering wheel, oblivious to the pain it caused. He couldn't take Blair home, but he wouldn't abandon him here either. He'd done that before and it had gotten Blair killed. Now they were finally on the road back, not only to Blair's recovery, but also in re-establishing their friendship.

It had taken some time for Jim to prove to Blair that he wouldn't let him down again, and almost as long for Jim to realize that Blair had not brought upon himself any of the misery he'd suffered. He was a long way from being able to forgive himself for those same transgressions, but the fact that Blair had not rejected him reassured him that the partnership was not lost. Now it was up to him to take the first step and prove that they were still in this together. Blair could rant and rave all he wanted, but Jim Ellison wasn't going anywhere.

Climbing out of the car, he bent his head against the wind and rain that lashed him and headed back toward the rehab center at a run. He stopped just inside the entrance doors to shake the water from his hair and jacket, and to calm his nerves.

"Jim!"

He startled as his name was called and looked in the direction the voice hailed from. A wide smile spread across his face at the sight he beheld. Blair stood… **stood** …in the hallway, one hand gripping tightly to the metal bar that ran the length of the corridor, his body shaking perilously.

"Blair?"

Jim strode toward the other man, his face feeling as though it was going to split wide open from the grin that adorned it. He slowed a little as he reached Blair and then stood, hands on hips, feeling a little unsure of his reception.

He waved a hand toward Blair's wobbly stance. "Well, this is new," he said around the lump in his throat.

"I wanted to surprise you before—" Blair broke off and his voice quavered slightly. He cleared his throat and finally looked at his partner from a face still pale, but resolute. "I'm sorry about what I said. It was unfair."

Jim nodded. "Apology accepted, if you'll accept mine."

Blair smiled. "Could you do something for me?"

"Sure."

Blair motioned toward his room with one hand. "Could you get my wheelchair? I'm kinda stuck here, man."

Jim burst out laughing and hurried to retrieve the chair.

00000

The two men sat opposite each other in the cafeteria, and Jim looked on as Blair brought a glass of juice to his mouth with a shaky hand. Small droplets sloshed over the sides and dripped onto the tabletop, but Jim held off from offering his help. He'd wait for Blair to ask. Jim drained his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. "So," he began. "What makes you suspicious of Mark's death?"

Blair almost hit the man seated at the next table as he waved his arms wide. Smiling apologetically, he went on. "I don't know, Jim. It's just that he was healthy. He was fine when we went to bed. There's something in my memory about that nurse last night. It just won't come."

"Don't push it, Chief. You'll get it."

"Are they going to do an autopsy?"

"I don't know. Look, it's getting late. Why don't I get you back to your room? It's too late now to look into this. I'll see what I can turn up in the morning."

Blair's faced paled a little. "I don't know if I can…"

"Are you worried about sleeping in that room?"

Blair shook his head and fiddled with the napkin dispenser. "I'm scared," he finally said in a whisper so low that Jim had to dial up his hearing. "I don't think I'm strong enough yet to fight anyone off."

Jim reached out a hand and took Blair's. "I'm not going to let anything like that happen to you. I won't leave you unprotected again." When Blair didn't respond, Jim squeezed his hand. "I know I have no right to ask you to trust me after everything that happened with Alex, but do you think you can?"

This time Blair nodded, and Jim smiled with relief. "Okay. Let's get you back to bed before Nurse Jones sends out a search party."

"Mark was a nice kid, Jim. He was only 22, and he'd already had to suffer an awful lot in his life. I just can't bear to think that someone could have murdered him."

"Let's not jump the gun here," Jim stated. "There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation." He grabbed hold of the wheelchair's handles and steered Blair back to his room. Once he had helped Blair to the bathroom and then into bed, he turned and pulled the chair closer before seating himself.

Blair eyed him curiously. "What are you doing?"

Jim shrugged. "I'm not tired right now," he answered. "Thought I'd just hang out here for a while."

"Thanks."

"Go to sleep, Sandburg."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Jim woke with the first rays of the sun as it shone directly onto his face like a beacon in the night. He straightened in the chair and tried to suppress a groan at the stiffness that made his entire body feel as though it was in a vice. Blair moved slightly in the bed as Jim stood up and worked at getting some of the knots loosened in his back and neck. Soon, Blair's eyes opened and he gazed drowsily up at Jim.

"Morning," he mumbled. He yawned and stretched, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "Six a.m? Did you stay here all night?"

Jim shrugged a little sheepishly. "Guess I nodded off."

"God, you must feel like a pretzel."

"You wouldn't know," Jim answered sardonically. "Why is it, do you suppose, that you always get the comfy hospital beds and I get the chairs?"

"Got me, man," Blair answered around another yawn. "You duck better than me?" He struggled to push himself upright in the bed, finally giving up and stretching out a slightly wobbly arm. "You want to give me a hand here? My muscles always seem to be at their weakest first thing in the morning."

"Which is why you're headed for the gym straight after breakfast," another voice cut in. "Good morning, Jim. Good morning, Blair," Melissa said as she entered the room.

"Good morning," both men chorused. Then Jim turned to Blair. "Are you going to be all right here for a few hours on your own?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to go home and take a shower, then head over to the station to have a look at those things we were talking about last night."

Blair look puzzled for a moment, then his eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh. Okay. Keep in touch, all right?"

"Will do." Jim gathered up his jacket.

"I won't be alone, anyway. I've got Melissa." Blair turned his most dazzling smile on the young nurse. "Right?"

Melissa nodded and smiled sweetly, twin dimples appearing in her cheeks. "You bet," she answered. "For as long as you want me. I'm working a double shift today. Kathy called in sick."

Jim shook his head as Blair continued to flirt with Melissa. "Later, Chief."

He headed home first, stopping briefly at a local bakery to pick up muffins for breakfast. Then he stepped into the shower and worked the kinks out of his sore back under the steaming water while the coffee brewed.

Not having Blair at home meant Jim could take as long as he wanted in the shower and he did so, reveling in the hot massage over his skin. He tried not to think about what had occurred the night before, but his mind kept drifting back to it, his ears still hearing Blair's angry words.

It wasn't the first time that Blair had doubted his place at Jim's side. A year or so before, when Jim had felt the specter of burnout looming, he'd requested a week off and headed off to fish. Alone.

The holiday had not gone well, with Simon and Blair following him to his hideaway, and then all of them stumbling on a scheme by a group of ex-military men to rob a train headed for the mint. Blair had been poisoned, along with most of the townspeople of Clayton Falls and it had taken him several days to recover. What Jim didn't think they'd ever get past, though, was the hurt that Blair felt when he mistakenly believed that Jim wanted to get away from him.

In a sense, that was precisely what Jim had needed, but it was so much more than that. His job, his senses, Blair pushing at him to do more tests, extend himself more, everything had closed in upon him until he thought the person he was would disappear.

He understood too, that Blair's motives were not selfish ones. Not only was he gathering information for his thesis, but also guiding Jim, teaching him new ways to use his heightened senses and finding ways around the ever-present threat of zone-outs and sudden, inexplicable, and often bizarre side effects.

Which led Jim straight back to where he had been before. Guilty as charged. He had used Blair's knowledge whenever and however it suited him, and then, when he felt his trust had been betrayed, he'd discarded him like yesterday's newspaper. He had not allowed Blair a chance to explain his behavior. Indeed, he had not considered any reason for Blair's behavior, other than utter stupidity or greed.

Shaking his head now as he stepped from the shower and dried himself off, Jim knew he couldn't have been farther off the mark. Greed was not a word in the Sandburg vocabulary. Blair had made a mistake in not telling Jim about Alex, and he had readily admitted his error long before Jim could voice his own guilt. He certainly did not deserve to be abandoned and drowned in a germ-infested fountain for his omission. It was not a sin, Jim thought, but a well-meaning attempt by Blair to protect his sentinel and friend.

He pushed his dark thoughts away as he headed back down the stairs to his car. The only way he could think to absolve his own guilt was to prove to Blair now that he was not alone in his fight back to health. He knew, though, that Blair's recovery relied heavily on his mental state. If Blair's peace of mind hinged on discovering the story behind Mark Cameron's death, then Jim would shift heaven and earth to uncover it.

00000

As soon as he arrived at the station, Jim went straight to his desk and picked up the phone. He made his first call to the director of the rehabilitation center. It was essentially a wasted call. There was little the director could tell him. There was the matter of patient confidentiality, and Jim's threats of a subpoena did not move the man.

//I sympathize with you, Detective. Until such time as a subpoena is forthcoming, I can't really tell you anything. You might talk to his parents.//

Jim leaned back in his chair. "Will there be an autopsy?"

//The parents chose to waive an autopsy. Mr. Cameron's body was released to his parents immediately. I believe he was privately cremated yesterday.//

"Who was on duty the night Mark Cameron died?" Jim waited as he heard the rustling of paper in the background.

//Nurses Jones and Malone, and two orderlies to assist with lifting. John Davies and Frank Perry. There is also always a doctor on call. Dr. Scott responded to the page regarding Mr. Cameron's death. The death certificate assigned heart failure as the cause.//

"He was just a young man," Jim said, trying to blink away the images of Blair's lifeless body overlaid on Mark's.

//He suffered from Becker's muscular dystrophy, Detective. It's not an uncommon outcome.//

"His roommate, Blair Sandburg, says that a nurse came into the room at some time during the night."

//Very likely. The nurses are required to do regular checks during the night. Some patients need to be turned, others may need assistance to go to the bathroom.//

Finally, after jotting down a few details about Mark's family, Jim hung up the phone. Feeling somewhat defeated, he knocked on Simon's office door and entered. The captain was absorbed in the report on his desk and did not immediately look up.

"Sit down, Jim. I'll be with you in just a minute."

Jim nodded and sat in the seat opposite. Finally, Simon signed the report and looked up. "How's Sandburg doing, Jim? I was thinking about going out to see him tonight. Daryl's been asking to visit, but I'll run it by the kid first."

"He's not so good, Simon," Jim sighed. "His roommate died yesterday. Blair found him and it affected him pretty badly."

"I can imagine," Simon said. "So, what can I do?"

Jim allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his lips at Simon's offer. "Sandburg seems to think there's something suspicious about Mark Cameron's death."

"Does he have reason to be suspicious?"

"I don't know. Cameron was 22. He suffered from a disease called Becker's muscular dystrophy. Cause of death was attributed to heart failure. According to the director at the center, it's a common outcome of the disorder."

"But?"

Jim sighed and shifted forward in his seat. "Blair was pretty hysterical when I got there last night. He seemed frightened of something, but he didn't seem to know what. He kept saying if I left him there, he'd die too."

"That's crazy," the captain snorted.

"That's what I said, just before he kicked me out," Jim replied wryly. "He calmed down eventually, but he's pretty insistent that Mark's death was suspicious. I promised to look into it for him. Just to set his mind at ease. He won't be ready to leave there for at least another two weeks, and I don't want him scared out of his mind for all that time."

Simon nodded thoughtfully. "What can I do to help?"

"Can you get someone to go talk to Mark's parents? They had his body cremated almost immediately. Maybe they wanted him off their hands. Blair said that Mark told him that his parents considered him an embarrassment."

Simon shook his head sadly. "Poor kid. What else?"

"I want to run a check on the people who were on duty that night, then I'm going to head back to the center to see Blair."

"Okay," Simon said. "I'll send Conner and Rafe out to talk with the parents. I'll tell them to let you know what they get."

Jim nodded then stood. "Thanks, Simon. I'll tell Blair you'll be out to see him later today."

00000

Jim looked up from his computer screen as Henri Brown walked into the bullpen. "Hey, H," he greeted the burly detective. "You free for a while?"

"Sure, Jim. What you got?"

Shrugging as he stood and pulled his jacket from the hook on the wall, Jim clapped Henri on the shoulder. "Maybe nothing. Come on, I'll fill you in on the way."

Henri gave his chocolate bar a mournful look then stuffed it into his jacket pocket before hurrying to catch up with the other man. He waited until they were on their way before he spoke. "So, how's Hairboy doing, Jim?"

"He's getting better. It's going to take a while, but he's getting stronger everyday."

"You know, Rafe and I, and the others would sure like to go visit him," Henri said slowly.

Jim sighed and glanced at the other detective. "Yeah. Give him a little more time, H. He'll come round. He's just nervous about anyone seeing him like this."

"I know," Henri answered. "You tell him we said hey, all right?"

Jim smiled widely. "I will."

"Okay." Henri got back to the business at hand. "Where are we going?"

"Blair's roommate died yesterday."

"Oh, man, that's too bad." Henri shook his head sadly. "Got the kid a little spooked, huh?"

"Something like that. Blair thinks that Mark may have been murdered."

"Hairboy's been hanging with cops for too long," Henri snorted. He sobered quickly. "Kid's usually right on the money where people are concerned though, so who's this dude we're going to see?"

"His name is Frank Perry, and he's an orderly at the rehab center. I ran computer checks on all the staff on duty the night Mark Cameron died. Perry got a red flag. He's been arrested for assault and drug possession. All small time stuff, but if Cameron's parents wanted Mark out of the way, Perry would be a logical choice."

Jim pulled the vehicle to a halt outside a nondescript apartment building. "This is the address we have for him. He's in Apartment 204."

Henri nodded and opened the passenger door. "Let's go see the man."

The detectives climbed the stairs to the second floor. Jim held out a restraining hand to Henri as he went to knock at the door. "Give me a minute," he whispered, ignoring Henri's puzzled look. Concentrating carefully, and mentally crossing his fingers against a zone-out, Jim extended his hearing into the apartment. Two heartbeats. He held up two fingers to signify the fact to Henri then nodded.

Henri rapped sharply at the door then waited until a woman's voice answered.

"Who is it?"

"Cascade Police Department, ma'am," Henri replied. "We'd like to speak with Frank Perry."

"He's not here," the woman replied immediately.

Jim's ears picked up the sound of a window being raised and the clatter of feet hitting metal. "Shit! He's on the fire escape." He wheeled and headed for the stairs, pulling his gun from its holster as he ran. "Get in there," he called to Henri. "Break the door down if you have to, and call for backup."

Henri nodded silently and put his considerable bulk against the door. Jim threw himself off the last few steps of the staircase, gritting his teeth as his ankle twisted slightly under him. He kept his hearing focused outside and could hear the lumbering steps of someone descending the fire escape, their breath rasping loudly.

Jim ran out the entrance door and sped toward the alley at the side of the building, slowing down as he reached the corner, then risked a look around the edge.

A large man was making his way down the final few steps of the fire escape, his face red and sweating from the exertion. Jim turned the corner slowly and steadied his gun in both hands before aiming it at the fleeing man. "Stay right where you are, Perry. Cascade PD."

"Oh, man," Perry wheezed. "I ain't done nothin'."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, right. How about you get down from there and we'll go talk about it at the station?"

"Did that bitch upstairs turn me in?" Perry asked, not moving from the last landing.

Jim shook his head. "We just want you to come down to the station and answer some questions about the night Mark Cameron died."

Jim heard Perry's heart rate increase. "I don't know anything about that. He was already dead when I—"

"When you what?" Jim asked, moving closer. He reached behind to find his cuffs.

The man looked away from him. "Nothing. Just nothing."

Jim closed in on the other man. He was aware of Henri leaning out of the apartment window above him, a struggling woman held easily under one beefy arm. "Jim? You okay? Backup's on the way."

"I'm fine, H," Jim called back. "You want to bring your lady friend down here?"

"Sure thing." Henri and the woman disappeared from sight and Jim turned his attention back to Perry. "Why don't you come down from there, nice and slow?"

Perry shook his head. "I can do nice and slow, man, but I don't think I can step that far down to the ground. The ramp is stuck."

Jim sighed, and after a moment's hesitation, re-holstered his weapon. "All right. You keep your hands out from your sides."

Perry nodded and held both arms out as Jim approached. Reaching up, Jim grasped hold of one fat hand and began to pull the man toward him. When he was close enough, he placed his other hand under Perry's armpit. "Okay, just reach right down with your foot."

The man did as he was told and finally, Jim had him standing somewhat shakily beside him. Suddenly, a flash of red-hot pain slashed across Jim's bicep, and his handcuffs dropped from his numb fingers. As Perry turned to run toward the mouth of the alley, Jim threw himself bodily at the fleeing man, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Perry grunted as his huge bulk hit the ground hard and the knife in his fist skittered away. Jim disentangled himself from the other man and staggered to his feet, one hand grasping his heavily bleeding arm. Then he dropped down, placing a knee in the small of Perry's back, and pulled the man's arms around behind him. Grasping both huge wrists with some difficulty, he looked up as a pair of handcuffs was held out in front of him.

Henri stood looking down at him, a worried frown on his face as he took in Jim's bloody sleeve. "You all right, man?"

Jim gritted his teeth as he snapped the cuffs around Perry's wrists. "Yeah, I'm fine. Where's the woman?"

Henri hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Uniforms pulled up just as I came out. They're taking her in."

"All right." Jim got to his feet then reached down to haul the big man to his feet. "Okay, Mr. Perry. Let's go have a little talk."

Perry stared resolutely ahead, saying nothing.

00000

Jim stared at the big man sitting opposite him and sighed. He rubbed absently at his heavily bandaged upper arm and attempted, once more in vain, to dial down the pain. He stood and began to pace. "Come on, Frank, help me out here. I don't want you to go to prison for something you didn't do."

Perry set his jaw and shook his head. Jim moved around the table and leaned over so that his mouth was near Perry's ear. "Somebody pay you to do something to Mark Cameron?"

"No!" Perry shouted. "He was already dead when I went in there."

Jim allowed himself a small smile of relief. They'd been going at this for two hours now, and Perry was finally beginning to make a few slips.

"So, you were in the room."

Frank nodded. "I had to help load the body onto the gurney. Then Nurse Harry asked me to pack up his things." Finally, Perry looked at Jim. "They were just sitting on the cupboard, man. Computer games, CD's. I figured they wouldn't miss a few, and the other guy, Blair, was so out of it, all he was seeing was the insides of his eyelids."

"What do you mean Blair was out of it?"

Perry shrugged. "I don't know. Just sitting there, staring at the wall all glassy-eyed. Looked like he was on some heavy-duty stuff. Maybe it was just the shock of finding the guy dead."

Jim's heart clenched at the mental picture the words evoked, then Perry spoke again. "Look, I didn't kill the kid. I liked him. He was cool. He floated me a loan a few times. It was just a few games and CD's, man. I figured they were no good to him any more. I've done some bad shit in my time, Detective, but I never killed nobody."

Jim rubbed again at his arm and Perry spoke up, his tone defensive. "Hey, I was scared, all right? You were telling me you wanted to talk to me about a murder."

"Yeah, right," Jim said tiredly. "Who else went into Mark's room that night?"

"Pretty much everyone," Perry answered. "Melissa was in there playing cards with the boys until about eleven." His eyes narrowed. "There was talk around, you know?"

"What about?"

Perry shrugged. "Just talk, about people dying too soon." His mouth clamped shut then, and none of Jim's threats or enticements would induce him to explain further.

A half-hour later, when it was clear that he would get no more information from Frank Perry, Jim turned him over to booking and headed to the break room for some much-needed coffee.

The wound in his arm throbbed unrelentingly and was still sluggishly oozing blood but it was the pain more than anything that concerned him. It faded in and out, one minute just a barely there throbbing, the next a sharp, agonizing flare of sensation that sizzled down his arm and shattered his concentration.

He took a moment to center himself and tried to picture the dials that Blair had fashioned for him in his mind's eye, but they kept fading to nothing. He found an almost empty bottle of ibuprofen in the back of the first aid box and threw three down his throat.

Jim looked up as Simon came into the room. The captain eyed the detective critically, taking in his disheveled appearance and wan complexion. "You all right?"

"I'll be fine," Jim answered. "I just can't seem to control the dials the way Blair taught me. They're all over the place."

He nodded at Simon's worried expression. "I'll be fine," he reiterated. "There's something going on in that rehab center, Simon."

"Get yourself cleaned up a little," Simon said, waving a hand at Jim's dusty pants and sweater. "There's a lady waiting to see you." Jim raised an eyebrow in question. "Nurse Harriet Jones, and she's refusing to talk to anyone except you."

00000

"Shit!" Blair collapsed face-first onto the exercise mat and weakly beat his fist against it.

"That's okay," Mandy said, rubbing his back gently. "You've done an awful lot today, Blair."

"It's not enough," Blair panted. "The day before yesterday, I walked four steps. Then I walked even further from my room out to the corridor last night. Today, I can hardly even stand up on my own." He blushed a little at her surprised look. "Sorry, guess I should have told you about last night."

"As long as you had someone with you, it's all right," Mandy answered.

"Yeah, of course," Blair obfuscated without a moment's guilt. "Jim was with me."

"Look, Blair, you have to give yourself a break here," Mandy said as she helped him sit up. "You had a long session the day before yesterday and then probably overdid it by walking around with your friend. Not to mention the stress you've been through finding Mark. It'll come. You're doing really well."

"It's not fast enough," Blair replied as he pulled himself up into his wheelchair. "I have to get well so I can help Jim out. I'm his partner, his backup." He sighed. "It's complicated. God, I hate this."

Mandy patted his arm and smiled as Melissa entered the gym. "Here comes your escort. Cut yourself some slack, okay, Blair?"

Blair nodded and waved a hand in farewell. He didn't speak on the way back to the room.

"Everything all right, Blair?" Melissa asked as she parked the wheelchair at right angles to the bed.

"Fine." He looked at her then. "I'm sorry. I'm just not in a great mood right now."

"Do you want to talk about it? Tell you what, why don't I go make us both a cup of tea and we'll talk?"

"Not right now, okay? I'm not good company."

Melissa nodded and patted his hand then walked to the door. Seeing the sad look on her face, Blair relented. "Actually, if you're sure you've got the time, it'd be nice to have someone to talk to."

It only took a few minutes for Melissa to return with two steaming mugs of tea. Blair had managed to get himself up onto the bed by the time she returned. Somehow, his pride wouldn't allow him to ask a petite young girl to haul him around. "I added some honey to yours," Melissa said, placing the cups on the rollaway table. "Figured you could do with some sweetening right now."

"Thanks," Blair answered, beginning to feel his black mood dissipate already. Melissa sat and sipped her tea. "So," she said. "Talk to me, Blair. What's going on in that cute head of yours?"

Blair managed a quick smile at the compliment then sighed as he shakily picked up his teacup and drank. "Sometimes I feel like I'm never going to get better. It's like one step forward and ten backward. Then finding Mark…"

Melissa took his hand in hers. "You're just a little depressed right now because of Mark. Finding him like that was a shock. It takes a while to get over something like that."

"No, it's more than that," he replied. "Jim and I had a fight last night. I accused him of wanting to get rid of me."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No, of course not. He did kick me out once before, though it was for an entirely different reason and it wasn't his fault. I just kept remembering how awful it was thinking that the loft wasn't my home any more, and the person I thought was my best friend didn't want me around anymore." Blair stopped and yawned widely. "But that's all over now. We sorted it out. I just hope he can forgive me for what I said last night."

"Poor Blair," Melissa said, patting his hand. "Looks like you could do with a nap."

"I am kind of tired."

Melissa took the empty teacup from his hand and set it on the table then helped him to lay down. She pulled the bedclothes up, then picked up the cups and walked to the door. "Get some rest, Blair," she whispered as she turned off the light. "Things will look much better when you wake up."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Nurse Harriet Jones was sitting quietly at Jim's desk concentrating on her knitting when Jim finally entered the bullpen. She looked up as he approached, then wound her yarn into a ball and wrapped it in a cloth before stowing it in the voluminous bag at her feet.

"Nurse Jones, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Jim said as he sat down at the desk.

Harriet smiled at him kindly. "Quite all right, Detective. I imagine you're a very busy man." She pointed at the bandage on his arm. "That looks nasty. I trust you've had your tetanus updated."

"It's fine. Just a scratch." Jim pulled his notepad and pen toward him. "What can I do to help you?"

Harriet Jones obviously wasn't one for beating around the bush. "I know who murdered young Mark Cameron," she stated, her voice brimming with confidence.

Jim looked up sharply at her words. "You do? Who?"

"Melissa," Harriet answered. "Melissa Malone."

"The other nurse who was on duty the night Mark died," Jim commented. "Did you see her do it?"

"I didn't have to," Harriet replied, and Jim's heart sank. "I know all about her."

"Unless you have some proof, Nurse Jones, you can't go around accusing people of murder."

"I've been watching her for quite some time, Detective. We've had a number of suspicious deaths at the center since Melissa came. I've worked there for thirty years, and until she came, we had one death a year at the most."

"What makes you think Melissa had anything to do with these deaths?"

"It bothered me," Harriet answered, "that all of the patients who died had been relatively well until Melissa came, then suddenly they were dropping like flies, if you'll pardon the expression. Granted, most of them had chronic illnesses for which there was no cure, but they certainly weren't expected to die from them."

Jim nodded, allowing his mind to wander, wondering if Nurse Jones was a murder mystery afficianado who'd seen one too many Miss Marple's. Her next words snapped him back to the present.

"She's done it before, you know."

"What?"

Harriet nodded knowledgeably. "I'm a bit of an amateur sleuth, in my spare time, Detective. I was suspicious of the fact that these patients always died when Melissa was on duty and none of them were ever ill at the time. I have an old nursing colleague who works at the same center that Melissa did before she came to The Pines. It was a retirement home. Melissa was asked to leave when a number of the patients there began to die suddenly."

Jim felt his mouth go dry. "Why didn't you go to the authorities with this information?"

"I did," Harriet protested. "The Director said since I had no proof, there was nothing they could do, and if they accused her without proof, they could face a lawsuit they couldn't afford. Personally, I just think they didn't want the publicity. He told me that if I didn't keep quiet, I'd be out of a job."

"Why are you coming forward now?"

"Mark was like a son to me, Detective. I never married, never had family of my own. I never needed to. My family was at The Pines. I know she killed him."

"You were on duty that night as well," Simon said, and Jim looked up in surprise, not having heard the captain's approach.

"I've been volunteering to work the same shifts as she does. I was hoping to catch her or at least get some kind of evidence. The night poor Mark died, a patient in another room had a seizure. Melissa and I were the only staff on besides the orderlies. I didn't get back there until after Blair had found Mark's body. It was only then that it all made sense. The patient I was with almost died that night, but he'd never suffered from seizures before."

Jim looked up at the captain. "Let me do a record search. It can't hurt to see what comes up."

"Do it," Simon said. Bending down to Harriet, he took her hand. "Miss Jones, you've been a great help to us. If you'll wait here, I'll find an officer to give you a ride home."

Harriet nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Captain. You will let me know when you've arrested her, won't you?"

"If we arrest her, yes, indeed," Simon said, helping her to her feet. "We'll be in touch for a more complete statement."

Jim waited until Harriet had been escorted from the bullpen before he stood and faced Simon. "Captain, I think I should get out to the center. Melissa Malone was looking after Blair today."

"It doesn't sound like Blair fits the profile of her victims, Jim, if she is a killer. Blair's illness isn't a chronic or incurable condition, and he's getting better. Besides, surely she wouldn't try anything in broad daylight."

Jim said nothing, merely stared his captain down, the nerve in his jaw twitching madly. Simon waved a hand. "Go. Take Brown and Taggert with you. As soon as the records come through, I'll phone you. Whatever we get, invite her to come in for a chat anyway."

"Thanks," Jim said as he turned on his heel and headed out the door at a run. "Brown, Joel, you're with me."

The three detectives were just driving through the gates of The Pines when Simon's call came through. "Looks like Harriet might have been on the right track, Jim."

"What have you got, Simon?"

"Eight years ago, there were some suspicions over a mentally disabled child who died in Melissa Malone's care. The child had previously been well, and his condition was not considered life threatening. Malone was sixteen at the time, and it was the opinion of the psychologist who saw her then that she suffered from a borderline personality disorder. I couldn't find any reports regarding suspicious deaths at the retirement home Nurse Jones mentioned."

"They could have covered it up, not wanting the publicity," Joel said. "It's happened before."

Jim nodded. "That's what Nurse Jones thought. All right, Simon. We're at the center now. I'll be in touch." Jim closed his phone and leapt from the car before Henri had even pulled it to a halt. "Joel, you want to watch the front entrance? H, take the back." Not waiting for their acknowledgement, Jim headed for the doors.

00000

Melissa slipped back into Blair's room the moment she had convinced Mary Casey to take her lunch break early. Blair was still sleeping deeply and she was grateful for that. The poor thing had already suffered so much, it would be so much better, she thought, if he slept through all the unpleasantness and then woke up on the other side.

She knew she was taking a chance. She'd never performed her charitable tasks in broad daylight before, but Blair couldn't wait for salvation and she didn't think she could either. The risk she was taking of discovery thrilled her somewhat, and she smiled. Her reward would be great for such bravery.

She hoped that Blair would accept his journey with gratitude, unlike Mark. Mark had fought wildly. He had been remarkably strong despite his terrible disabilities. Melissa had been glad that she'd thought of giving Blair a sedative that night so that he slept through the entire thing.

Well, almost. He'd woken at one point. Melissa had been pressing the pillow onto Mark's face and his struggles were finally slowing, when she became aware that she was being watched. Blair had rolled onto his side, bleary blue eyes gazing at her.

"Go back to sleep, Blair," Melissa had crooned as she placed the pillow back under Mark's head. "It's not morning yet."

Now, she crossed the room swiftly and gazed down at the drugged man, his forehead creased in a frown. "Poor Blair," she whispered as she stroked gentle fingers across his brow. "Mark was sad, too. It was better for him to go to God. Now, it's your turn. You're giving up, I can tell. It's all too much, isn't it, Blair?"

She reached for the pillow on the empty bed and began to lower it to Blair's face. Sleepy blue eyes opened to look at her. "…lissa? What's wron'?"

"Nothing's wrong, Blair. Everything will be better soon," the nurse assured him. As Blair's eyes closed once more, she brought the pillow from behind her back and this time pushed it swiftly down onto his face.

Blair arched up almost immediately, his hands coming up to claw at the pillow. His heels dug into the mattress as he struggled to gain a purchase to shake the suffocating thing from his face. Melissa held on and pushed as much of her body weight as she could onto the struggling man. "Why are you fighting me, Blair?" she panted. "You know it's what you want."

00000

Jim extended his hearing on his race through the hospital corridors. He ducked around nurses and shook off the hands of an orderly who tried to waylay him. Reaching the stairs, he took them two at a time and put on an extra burst of speed as Melissa's voice came to him.

//Why are you fighting me, Blair? You know it's what you want.//

In the background, Jim could hear the frantic sounds of struggle, a glass smashing to the ground, then the movements horrifyingly slowing, Blair's gasping breaths ceasing by the time he approached Blair's door.

Without breaking stride, Jim barreled through the door and threw himself at the woman who was bent over his partner's still form. As Jim pulled at her arms, Melissa turned into a wildcat, flailing out with both hands to tear at his face. He dragged her from the bedside, shocked to see that Blair's arms hung limp over the sides of the bed, and his lips were tinged with blue.

Even as he pulled her away, Melissa fought like someone possessed, trying desperately to get back to Blair's side, snarling angry epithets, her eyes narrowed and rimmed with red. Finally, Jim bunched up a fist and delivered a sharp blow to her jaw. She collapsed without a sound and he lowered her to the floor then hurried to Blair's side.

In his panic, his hearing wavered in and out, and he lifted shaking fingers to Blair's neck to feel for a pulse. It was still there, feeble and slow but a quick appraisal of Blair's chest showed that he was not breathing.

Jim wrenched the pillow from under Blair's head and tossed it to the floor. Just as he was about to lower his mouth to Blair's, the door burst open to reveal the stunned faces of Henri and Joel. Jim granted them only a split second of attention. "Get a doctor in here. He's not breathing." He jerked his chin at the unconscious woman on the floor. "Take care of her."

Joel nodded, his eyes wide with shock and hurried from the room. Jim pushed Blair's mouth open with his thumb and bent to breathe in the first puff of air. "Come on, Chief," he whispered as he watched Blair's chest rise and fall. "Breathe, damn it!"

He'd managed three breaths into a silent and still Blair before the door opened once more, and the room was suddenly full of white-coated personnel. He was pushed aside and initially fought back, until a firm hand on his arm stopped him. "Come on, Jim," Joel said, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Let them do their job."

Jim nodded and turned his attention to Melissa, who was now conscious and being helped from the floor. Suddenly, she lunged once more at Blair. "No!" she screamed, as her hands hit out at the doctors engaged in the struggle for Blair's life. "You don't understand. He wants to go."

Henri hurriedly pulled the distraught woman from the room and Jim turned back in time to see Blair take a shuddering breath. His legs felt suddenly weak, and he staggered to the bedside as one of the doctors fitted an oxygen mask over Blair's face and gave Jim a nod. "I think he'll be all right, Detective, but we'll move him into the high dependency unit for a while to keep an eye on him."

Blair's swollen, red-rimmed eyes opened and shut slowly a few times. Then his eyes filled with tears as he gave a choking sob and reached for Jim's hand.

"Hey, it's all right now. I'm here," Jim soothed.

"She killed him," Blair croaked miserably through the oxygen mask covering his mouth. "I woke up and saw her. I thought I was dreaming."

"It's over, Chief. It's over." Jim sank down gratefully into the chair that someone pushed under him and smiled at his partner. "It's over."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Jim shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, wincing as it creaked beneath his weight. He stole a look around the darkened ward, but the two patients in the beds opposite Blair's slept on.

"So, here we are again, Chief," Jim whispered softly as he stroked a thumb absently over the back of Blair's hand. "And I don't like it any more than I did before. At least this time I know you're going to be all right."

A small sigh puffed from Blair's lips as one hand reached up to pull in agitation at the oxygen mask that still covered his mouth. Jim waylaid the hand once more and set it down across Blair's chest. "Leave it on, Sandburg. It's helping you."

Blair grimaced but nodded. "Where—" He broke off, wincing, his hand going now to clutch at his throat and Jim winced with him as his enhanced sight picked out the scratches and bruising on Blair's throat where Melissa had fought to press the pillow to his face.

"Here." Leaning forward, Jim pulled the mask down for a moment, then cupped a hand under Blair's neck and lifted his head, holding a cup of water to his lips with the other.

Blair took several careful sips before pushing the cup away and nodding his thanks. "Where am I?" he asked again.

"High dependency unit. Just overnight."

Blair's eyes closed drowsily as he spoke. "I don't remember getting here."

"The doctor gave you a sedative. You were pretty shaken up."

Blair lifted both hands now and waved them in front of his face, as his forehead creased into a frown. "My eyes are blurry and my hands and feet are tingly again." His voice had dropped to a whisper when he spoke again. "Is it back?"

"No. Your body's had a shock, and it's just going to take a few days to get back on track."

"So I have to stay longer?"

Finally Jim was able to smile. "I spoke to the doctor and he said you can still come home next week as planned… if you want to." Jim leaned back in the armchair and fiddled with the torn edge on the armrest. "Sandburg, we never got to talk properly about what happened with Alex, about what I did."

"I told you it was a primal thing, another sentinel impinging on your territory, threatening your tribe. It was a natural reaction."

"You're a part of that tribe. Sometimes I think you're the most important part. My guide. The shaman of the great city." He smiled a little at that. "My reaction to you being threatened was to throw you out of your home and leave you unprotected."

"You made a mistake. You thought she was after you, and I think she was, at first. You were the only one capable of tracking her down through the connection you shared, but I don't think she'd figured me into that equation." Blair grinned, looking rather proud of that. "She thought I was just some nerdy professor. It was only at the end that she realized that you and I also had a connection, a bond."

He waved his finger between Jim and himself. "I think it was after you and Megan got her at the warehouse that she decided to kill me, because she wanted to take away the one thing she couldn't have."

Blair pushed himself up further on the pillows, smiling as Jim stood and slid one arm behind his shoulders, his other hand under his armpit, lifting him higher. "Thanks. See, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help her the way I help you. No matter how hard she or I tried, I don't think it was ever going to work. Because I'm linked to you. So, if she killed me, she not only got her revenge, but she might have hoped that breaking the bond we shared might strengthen your bond to her."

"It almost did," Jim answered glumly.

"You fought it and won."

"What if it happens again? What if there are more sentinels out there?"

"Well, for a start, maybe they'll be good guys, like you, but if not, we're prepared now, Jim. We know what to expect and we know what to do."

"Like listening when your partner wants to talk to you."

"You've got to admit it's a good start."

"It's a great start." Jim smiled as Blair yawned mightily. "Get some sleep, Chief. I'm not going anywhere."

"Go home. I don't want you sitting there just watching me sleep."

"I don't mind."

"I do, or do I have to kick your butt out of here like I did before?"

Jim stood and looked down at his friend. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Blair nodded sleepily. "I'll be fine."

Finally satisfied, Jim nodded and touched Blair's shoulder. "Okay. I'll see you in the morning."

00000

Blair pushed himself upright on the bed and looked up as the door to his room was pushed open and Jim poked his head inside. "Hey there, Chief. You all packed and ready to go?"

"Are you kidding?" Blair griped good-naturedly as he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I packed at 6 AM. I didn't think you were ever going to get here."

"Doctor Morris said you couldn't leave until after 10," Jim answered. He walked into the room and lifted Blair's suitcase, wincing slightly as he did. Quickly, he shifted it to his other hand, but Blair was too fast for him.

"Your arm still bothering you?"

Jim began to shake his head, then sighed and nodded. "Just a little. It's only a scratch."

Blair thought for a moment. "We'll have to work on those dials a little more. Reinforce the imagery. Did Simon give you the week off?"

Jim grinned. "Yep. One week of sleeping in, watching TV. I might finally get to finish reading that new Tom Clancy book you bought me for my birthday."

"Good."

Jim smiled in satisfaction. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

"Plenty of time to work on the dials then."

Jim groaned. "Let's go home."

Blair grinned. "It has a nice ring to it – home."

Jim reached out and ruffled Blair's hair. "It does, indeed."

Jim moved to stand at Blair's side as he slid slowly off the bed. Blair waited a moment to calm his shaky nerves then reached for the cane that Jim held out to him. "Thanks."

Together, the two men slowly made their way out the door Blair feeling more confident the nearer they came to the exit. Nurse Harriet Jones looked up at their approach and smiled. Bending to her ever-present knitting bag, she retrieved something from its depths then rounded the desk to meet them. "Well, Blair. On your way home at last." Blair smiled and nodded. "We're going to miss you, you know, though I'm sure you'll be glad to see the back of me."

"Not at all," Blair answered truthfully. "I've got to admit, Harry, I can't wait to get home but I'm going to miss you. Will you stay in touch? Maybe come over to the loft for dinner?"

"I'd like that." She held up the item that she'd pulled from her bag. "I would like you to have this," she said, pushing a sweater knitted in a rich shade of russet into Blair's hands. "I was knitting it for Mark. I think he'd like you to have it."

Blair stroked the soft wool, then impulsively leaned forward and kissed Harriet's rosy cheek. "Thank you."

Harriet turned her attention to Jim as she brushed a tear from her eye. "Thank you, Detective, for catching Melissa. I know it won't bring Mark back, but at least she can't hurt anyone else."

Jim shook her hand. "We couldn't have done it without your help, Miss Jones."

Blair gave her another hug, then the two friends made their way toward the doors. "Blair?" Harriet called and he turned, overbalancing a little as he did so, and smiling his gratitude as Jim's strong arm steadied him. "Don't think you got away with that one."

Blair was puzzled and a little concerned that he'd unwittingly offended the kindly nurse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

Nurse Jones smiled. "It's Harriet, not Harry." She chuckled as Blair blushed and Jim dug his partner gently in the ribs.

Blair waited until Jim had him settled in the car and had climbed in behind the wheel before he spoke. "Do you want to invite the guys over for a poker game in a couple of days?"

"I think they'd like that, Chief," Jim answered as he started the car. "They've missed you."

Blair leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. "I've missed them too."

00000

Neither man spoke much on the drive home. Blair asked Jim to roll down the passenger side window before they left and Jim obliged, after securing a jacket around his partner's shoulders. Blair opened his mouth as though to protest his roommate's mother-hen instincts, then sighed and turned his attention to the scenery speeding by and the fresh air streaming in through the window.

Jim concentrated on finally having Blair back at his side and tried to keep his attention on the road and not continuously monitor the young man. It was an ingrained response, however, and every now and then, Blair's heartbeat would fill his hearing, drowning out even the jazz beat coming from the radio. It was as though they'd never been apart, Jim marveled. Just as the sound of Blair's heart swelled to a crescendo in his ears, a warm, firm hand would touch Jim's forearm, squeezing lightly and he'd pull back from the almost-zone.

Blair turned slightly in his seat and smiled at him and Jim's answering grin made his cheeks ache. It was good to be going home.

By the time they parked outside the apartment and made their way upstairs in the elevator, Blair looked exhausted. He leaned heavily against the wall of the car and splayed his feet out widely in front of him to keep his balance.

Once inside, Jim made tea and watched Blair stroll slowly around the loft, reacquainting himself with his surroundings.

"Is this new?" Blair asked, picking up a hand-painted earthenware vase filled with a dried flower arrangement.

"No, well, not really. That one was from Sam, Kate, Mary and Deb." Jim's forehead creased into a frown as he thought. "They all work at the university library. I brought it into the hospital for you, but you were still pretty out of it." He carried the teacups to the table and set them down. "Most of the flowers died already, and there were some plants I put out on the balcony, but I haven't been home much to water them."

Blair nodded in understanding as he slipped into a chair and propped his cane beside him. "That's okay. I'll check them out tomorrow. See if I can resurrect any of them."

Jim blew a tendril of steam from his tea and gestured toward Blair's room. "I kept all the gift cards. They're in a box on your desk. I thought you'd like to go through them yourself. Write thank you notes or something."

Blair smiled. "Thanks. It'll help to pass the time until I'm up to going back to school." He sipped at his tea and let his gaze wander around the room. He knew he should be showing more excitement, more happiness at least at being home, but he felt instead vaguely uncomfortable and nervous, as though half-expecting something awful to happen.

He shivered violently, one arm spasming outward and knocking his cane to the floor. Jim was at his side in a heartbeat, one arm wrapping around Blair's shoulders as he steadied the wobbly young man.

"Shit! Are you all right, Chief?"

Blair leaned unashamedly into the welcome warmth of Jim's support. He nodded. "Just tired, man. Really tired."

"Let's get you to bed then." With Jim's hand under his elbow, Blair managed to get to his feet. He felt suddenly shaky; the numbness in his hands and feet amplified as he took a step and stumbled, reaching out in panic for Jim, who pressed him against his side. "It's all right. I've got you."

He was too weary, too weak to feel embarrassed as Jim almost carried him into his room. Leaning down, Jim deposited him gently on the bed then set about unbuttoning his shirt. Blair's hands came up to tangle with Jim's.

"It's okay, man. I got it."

Jim straightened and studied him for a moment, hands on hips, then nodded. "You sure you feel all right? Maybe you should have stayed in the hospital a little longer. Do you want me to phone…?"

"Jim, I'm fine," Blair insisted, though he wasn't as convinced as he sounded. His hands felt tingly now, and his chest seemed a little tight. He reined in his apprehension and forced a smile onto his face. "Really. Just tired."

Jim's hovering stance relaxed and he smiled back. "Okay. Whisper if you need anything. If you need to go to the bathroom, or you want to get up, call me." He waggled a stern finger. "Doctor's orders till you've got more mobility and strength in your legs."

Blair nodded, then lay down and toed off his shoes. Feeling sleep already creeping up, he aborted the attempt to remove anything else and sank into his pillows with a sigh.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Thirteen**

Blair woke to darkness and a feeling of total disorientation. His heart skipped a beat then settled as the memories of coming home floated back into his fuzzy mind. Though he knew he must have been asleep for sometime, he still felt drowsy and confused, something worrying at the back of his mind. There was something pressing against his chest, making it difficult to breathe, and he had to take deeper and deeper breaths just to pull in enough air.

Flailing out his still-tingling hands, he yelped as one hit the edge of his bedside table and sent sharp pain shooting up his arm. Feeling vaguely relieved that he could feel the pain, he pushed down on the mattress and tried to lever himself upright, hoping that it might ease his breathing, but his elbows locked briefly, then gave beneath his wildly trembling weight, sending him bouncing back onto the bed.

Beginning to panic in earnest now, Blair rolled his body sideways and managed to flop out of bed, wincing as his hip and head impacted the floor with a dull thud. "Jim!"

He wasn't sure if he'd even given the word enough air to make a sound, but was relieved to see his door pushed open and Jim step into the room.

"Shit! Blair! What happened?"

Jim was kneeling beside him, gathering him up to lay him on the bed, hovering over him, running sensitive fingers along his body. Despite the relief Blair felt at seeing him, he felt suffocated by Jim's close proximity and pushed feebly against his chest. "Don't," he gasped. "Can't breathe."

"Oh, God." Jim's face drained of color, but he stepped back anyway, his hands held wide as though in supplication.

The moment Jim stepped back, Blair felt suddenly bereft, cut adrift, and he reached out and grabbed hold of Jim's hand with one of his own. "Don't know what's wrong," he wheezed, unintentional tears squeezing out from beneath his tightly closed lids. "Don't leave me, please."

Jim moved closer then and sat on the bed, pulling Blair into a comforting embrace. "It's okay, Chief. I'm not going anywhere."

Blair tried to relax into Jim's arms but his body felt rock-hard with tension, his muscles beginning to cramp from their enforced rigidity. A sharp, hot pain lanced through his chest and he groaned at the agony of it.

"Jesus, Blair, what's going on here?"

Jim's voice was close to his ear, his breath hot on Blair's neck as he cupped Blair's sweaty skull and pressed it into the crook of his shoulder. Blair fought to concentrate on the sensation, and on the familiar sound of Jim's voice as black spots crowded his vision. "You're wound tighter than a spring here, Sandburg, and your heart's pounding like you just ran a marathon."

Jim was rocking him now, and Blair focused on it, letting the rhythm soothe him until his chest tightened again and he gasped for breath.

"Can't breathe," Blair moaned, his fingers digging tightly into Jim's shoulders in his fear. "Take me back to the hospital."

"Wait a minute. I think I know what's happening here. Let me try one thing first, okay?"

Blair was already shaking his head, pushing away again from Jim's hold and struggling to get to his feet. There wasn't enough air in the room. He needed to get out.

"Blair! Blair!" Jim's voice was loud and commanding, the grip of his fingers curling around Blair's hand painful enough to capture his attention. "Look at me."

Blair gritted his teeth against the rising, and rapidly spiraling panic that was bubbling from his chest and fixed his eyes on Jim's face.

"Good, that's good," Jim praised. "I want to try something first. Just for a couple of minutes. All right?"

Against his better judgement, Blair nodded. "Hurry."

Jim's free hand reached out and pulled a bookstore paper bag from Blair's desk. Grasping it around the open edge, he fitted it over Blair's mouth and nose, cupping the back of his head with one hand when Blair tried to pull away. "No. No. It's okay. You're okay. Just breathe, buddy. That's it."

Blair nodded and continued to gasp into the bag, his wide, frightened eyes never leaving Jim's face. After several minutes, he could feel the pressure in his chest ease, his muscles loosening and an overwhelming exhaustion overtaking him. As he sagged forward, Jim's arm's caught him, pushing him forward so that he slumped against Jim's chest. A broad, warm hand drew soothing circles over his back, and he could feel himself drifting toward sleep.

00000

Jim sat, trying to remain still as Blair's breathing became deeper and even, his heartbeat slowing to a more restful rhythm and his body becoming limp. Occasionally, he startled, his head moving back, eyes opening wide to stare at Jim, drifting closed as Jim smiled and reassured him. "Go to sleep. It's all right. I'm still here."

When he thought Blair was deeply asleep, he lay him back down on the bed and stood, arching his back to relieve the ache. Pulling up the covers, he rested a hand on Blair's chest for a moment, reassured that the panic attack had resolved then left the room. This time, he left the door open.

00000

Blair woke slowly, his face pressed into an unpleasant wet spot of drool. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and his eyes were gritty and puffy. The muted sound of a radio indicated Jim was already up. He concentrated on untangling the bedclothes from his body and managed to roll onto his back.

Staring at the ceiling, his face heated as the memory of the night before came back. He'd had a panic attack; even now he could feel the telltale ache in his chest muscles and the faint throbbing in his head. Over what? The memory of Melissa's attack at the Rehabilitation Center was still fresh in his mind, but he could recall no nightmare last night. He was finally at home, where he had yearned to be for a couple of months…

He groaned as he remembered Jim's voice soothing him to sleep, his strong arms enfolding him in a comforting embrace as Blair sobbed his distress.

Blair looked around his room, faintly lit with daylight. Guilt and self-pity weighed like a rock in his chest. Jim had been prepared to take on an awful lot for Blair, but there was no way he'd want to deal with an emotional cripple. What sort of guide, what sort of backup could he be if he was going to wimp out every five minutes?

"Chief? You awake in there?"

Jim's cheery voice pulled Blair from his dark thoughts and he cleared his throat before answering. "Yeah."

He pasted a smile on his face as Jim walked into his room. "You want to eat first or shower?"

"Coffee?" Blair ventured.

"Strong and hot, just how you like it. Let's get you upright."

Blair allowed Jim to pull him into a sitting position, knowing his muscles were still half-asleep until he got moving in the mornings. He pushed his legs over the side of the bed and dressed in old sweats with a minimum of help. "Could you…" He pointed to his unlaced shoes and Jim knelt obligingly and tied them up.

Grasping hold of Jim's strong forearm, Blair levered himself upright, waiting a moment for the expected head-rush to settle before taking hold of his cane and walking slowly out to the dining room.

The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee and eggs and bacon evaporated his earlier concerns, and Blair lowered himself into a seat at the table, suddenly ravenous.

Jim held out a basket of muffins. "Blueberry."

Blair took one, hesitated, then helped himself to a second as Jim grinned and poured the coffee. "You want a straw with this, Chief?"

Blair thought about it. Truthfully, the coffee tasted awful sucked up through a plastic straw, but he didn't think his hands were strong enough yet to hold the cup. "I should probably use a straw," he said finally.

"Tell you what." Jim sat down in a seat opposite and picked up his own cup. "I could do it for you."

"What?"

"You know, hold the cup for you. You tell me when you want a drink. It's gotta taste awful through a straw, even without sentinel tastebuds."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Blair idly broke his muffin into pieces on his plate as he mulled over how to bring up the previous night's event. "Jim? I'm sorry about last night. It was stupid."

Jim put down the newspaper he'd been reading and looked at Blair. "What was stupid?"

"Me going crazy like that. I don't know what that was all about. I guess I got a little scared. I mean, at the hospital if something happened, there were doctors and nurses right there." His eyes grew wide as he rushed to explain. "Not that I don't trust you to be able to help me. I do. I just…" He sighed mournfully. "You probably think I don't want to be here, but I do." He pushed his plate away with a sigh. "I won't blame you if you want me to leave. You don't have time to be dealing with my shit."

Jim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you have time to deal with mine?"

Blair looked at him, confused. "I don't… What do you mean?"

"All those nights on stakeout with me after teaching all day. How about following me around crime scenes for hours, coaching me with my senses, making sure I didn't zone, or spending the time talking to my doctors when I got shot so they knew about my drug sensitivities?"

"Well, yeah, but that was different."

"How?"

"I chose to do that. It was my idea in the first place, and I was getting something out of it in return."

"What?"

"My diss."

"That's all?"

"I don't know where you're going with this, Jim," Blair stammered.

Jim threw his napkin onto the table and moved around to sit next to Blair. "Do you remember telling me after we went to Peru to find Simon and Daryl that it was all about friendship?"

"Sure, and it still is."

You think that friendship only goes one way, Darwin?"

"No! I just don't want to be a burden on you."

"I can handle it, Sandburg." Jim laid a large hand over Blair's. "We can handle it. Capiche?"

"Capsh…Capsh…"

Jim snorted as Blair stumbled over the unwieldy word. He held up Blair's cup. "Coffee?"

00000

If Jim had thought that life would instantly return to normal once Blair was home, he was in for a shock. Despite the information they'd been given by the doctor, reading the recommendations on paper was far different from actually putting a rehabilitation program into place, especially when they now had to factor in Jim's work hours.

Jim asked Simon for a long weekend off so he and Blair could go through each step of the program and organize a daily plan. He ignored Blair alluding to his anal-retentive qualities when he insisted on a back-up for every contingency. He phoned an old friend who ran a gym and booked Blair in for daily strengthening sessions in the late morning, deciding that either he or someone from the station could pick him up and join him at the loft for lunch. Knowing Blair's popularity at Major Crime, he knew he'd have no shortage of volunteers.

Blair found it highly amusing that Jim had now become the vitamin police, scanning every can and package of food for its nutrient content. Jim had to admit that he felt better himself, since his own diet improved as he encouraged Blair to eat. He kept his precious Wonderburgers for those long nights on stakeout and swore his temporary partner, Conner, to secrecy.

Blair was also seeing a speech therapist, though his vocal skills had returned to almost their pre-illness quality. Jim was surprisingly relieved. Though Blair's constant chatter had been known in the past to grate on him, a silent Sandburg was not a normal phenomenon, and was now the measure by which Jim gauged his partner's moods and well-being.

Jim had also broached the idea of someone staying with Blair while he was at work. Not surprisingly, Blair had vetoed the idea vociferously, and they managed a compromise where Jim would get Blair up and showered in the morning, then settled either in front of the TV or at his laptop. He'd phone Blair when he arrived at work to make sure he was all right and see if there was anything he needed Jim to pick up.

The first couple of days had been rather silent, and Jim had become concerned enough to phone Blair's doctor from work and ask for advice. He mentioned the panic attack the first night home, and Doctor Parry reassured him immediately.

"It really is a common occurrence when someone's been hospitalized for some time, Jim. They become reliant on others to do a lot for them while they're recuperating. There's the fear of a relapse, and in the case of an illness where breathing or the heart is concerned, there's the very real fear that the next time they may not make it to the hospital on time, and if they'd stayed there, they'd be safe."

"What's the chance of a relapse?"

"It's very remote. His symptoms may become amplified from time to time due to fatigue, if he pushes himself too hard, doesn't eat well, or doesn't get enough sleep. Over time, the severity of the symptoms will dissipate, as will the chance of them recurring. I'm quite sure that he'll never have a relapse so severe that he'll stop breathing again. All you can do is reassure him that he's going through a normal recovery, find out what's exacerbating the symptoms, correct it if you can, and most of all, don't let him dwell on it."

"Easier said than done."

"Keep him occupied," Parry suggested. "Keep his mind busy, and try to remember that being discharged from hospital doesn't mean he's completely well yet. He's certainly well enough to no longer need constant supervision but he's still recovering. If you're at all concerned, give me a call or bring him by the ER."

"Thanks, doc. I appreciate your help." Jim hung up the phone and thought for a moment. Standing up, he picked up his coffee cup and walked into Simon's office.

00000

Blair was bored. He'd been home for three days now, and he had already run out of things to do. He moped around the apartment, picking up books and leafing desultorily through them, aimlessly channel-surfing, or cooking up bizarre recipes that Naomi emailed him for his health.

He tried to work on his dissertation, but the stuff with Alex was still too fresh in his mind, and whenever he got out the tapes where he talked about getting Jim and Alex together, he could feel another panic attack creep up on him.

Someone had taken over his classes at school until he was well enough to go back, and he was grateful for the reprieve, knowing he was still not strong enough to return for a full day, but desperate for something constructive to do.

He'd given up phoning people for a chat, often feeling he was keeping them away from more important things. The guys from Major Crime had promised to come over on Friday night for a poker night, but that was three days away.

Depressed, Blair tossed the day-old newspaper on the coffee table and slumped onto the couch. Jim wouldn't even let him go downstairs alone and pick up the paper. He'd promised to bring it home with him.

He looked up in surprise as the front door opened and Jim walked in. "What are you doing home already?" He pulled himself upright. "Did something happen?"

"What? I can't have an early night without getting the third degree?" Jim walked over to the dining table and deposited a pile of folders on it before walking through to the kitchen and pulling a beer from the refrigerator.

"Sure you can. I was just worried." Blair indicated the folders. "What's all this? Homework?"

"You could say that." Jim opened the refrigerator and perused the contents. "Damn, I should have gone shopping on the way home."

"You should have phoned me," Blair said. "I could have gone to the market."

"I don't think you're up to that yet, Chief. At least not on your own…"

"Jesus, Jim, I'm not a cripple. I can do stuff on my own, you know?" Blair was struggling back to his feet, humiliated when the soft cushions would not allow him the resistance he needed to lever himself up. He allowed Jim to approach and pull him up, then shook his hand off impatiently. "Thanks." He limped toward his room, ignoring the walking stick that Jim held out to him.

"Sandburg, wait a minute."

Realizing he was acting like a sulky child, Blair stopped and turned around, his face flushed with anger and shame. "Sorry, all right?"

"No, it's not all right." Jim moved closer and put his hands on Blair's shoulders. "I know you're frustrated and bored with all of this. I also know you're not ready to get back to full-time work yet. I'm sorry that I always seem to be treating you like a kid. How about we both go shopping tomorrow afternoon? We can have lunch somewhere before I go back to work."

Blair smiled. "Sounds like a plan. What about tonight? The cupboards are really bare, man."

Jim eyed him contemplatively for a moment. "I guess a pizza once in a while wouldn't hurt."

Blair's blue eyes twinkled with mirth. "I knew the health kick wouldn't last. Make it a veggie special, and we can pretend it's healthy."

"Deal." Jim headed for the stairs. "You make the phone call while I get changed."

"Okay." As he turned toward the kitchen to find the pizzeria's phone number, the files on the table caught Blair's attention again. "What's with the files? Simon got you working from home as well now?"

"Not me, Darwin. You."

"Why me?"

Jim's head appeared at the top of the stairs. "They're old cases, still open. Simon thought that maybe you could take a look at them from a fresh perspective. Maybe you'll pick up something nobody else did."

"Jim, I'm an anthropologist."

"Exactly. You observe things, people. My senses are my skill, observing is yours. You want to hurry up and order that pizza, Chief? I'm starving here."

"Yeah, okay." Blair made the call then wandered back to the table and sat down. Fumbling with his glasses, he finally got them on, and pulled the top-most folder toward him.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

**One week later:**

Jim shook his head as he checked the seasoning in the casserole and listened with half an ear as Sandburg regaled him with the story of some South American tribe he'd once studied, then segued into how it tied in with the murder case he'd been looking into that day.

His partner was sitting in front of the TV, having finally found a documentary on the Discovery channel that had taken his interest. As Blair jumped from one subject to the next, often forgetting to take a breath, Jim snorted and reached for his beer. Perhaps things were finally getting back to normal.

"You're not listening to me."

Jim's head shot up at the voice at his shoulder. "Of course I am."

"All right." Blair folded his arms across his chest and regarded his partner with a skeptical eye. "What was the last thing I said?"

Jim took a wild guess. "You were talking about going back to school and working with me."

Blair looked surprised. "Okay, maybe you were listening."

It had, in fact, been easy enough to figure out since that was what the conversation turned to every night since Blair had come home from The Pines. The work that Simon had readily handed over for Blair to look at had been a mixed blessing. It kept him occupied during the day and often well into the night, with Jim confiscating the reports on more than one occasion when he found his partner slumped over them, asleep.

While Blair was recovering more of his abilities each day, he was still not fit enough for Jim to entertain the thought of him coming into the station. His fingers and toes were still numb, as were his lips occasionally. He was walking mostly without his cane inside the apartment, though he took it for support if they went out. He tired quickly, and tended to suffer dizzy spells and lose his balance when he got too fatigued. Considering that a few months before he'd been on a ventilator, unable to breathe or even move, Jim thought he was improving in leaps and bounds. That wasn't what bothered him.

Jim put down the wooden spoon and turned to face Blair. "I'm just thinking that maybe you should concentrate on your studies for a while. I mean, this has been a pretty tough thing you've gone through, and you're still not a hundred percent."

"I know that." Blair reached into the cupboard and carefully pulled out two dinner plates. "I'm thinking about to talking to the Dean about maybe going back to teach a couple of lessons per day. Keep my hand in, you know." He paused as he pulled glasses from the shelf. "I think I'm ready to start on my dissertation again. I mean, I still get the creeps when I think about Alex, but there's a lot of incredible information in all of this. It's gonna be useful to you too, man. You never know if there's more sentinels out there."

"I've been thinking about that too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jim gave the casserole a final stir then turned off the burner. "Come over and sit down for a minute." He steered Blair to the dining table and pulled out a chair for him then sat beside him. "I've been thinking that maybe you should change your dissertation subject to the closed societies thing that was your cover story."

Jim saw the color drain from Blair's face as he spoke, and rushed to reassure his partner. "I'm not saying I don't want you working with me and I'm not kicking you out. I'm just thinking you could work at the station and because you wouldn't be studying my senses, you wouldn't need to come out on calls with me and you could even work with some of the other guys."

"You don't want me to be your partner any more?"

"Of course I do. I just—"

"Sentinels are my life's work, Jim. I can't give that up now."

"Well, you already said you've got more than enough information for your dissertation, so why not work on finishing it up now?"

Sandburg toyed with the pepper grinder. "So you are saying you don't want me to be your partner."

Jim stood and began to pace. "I'm saying I don't want to put you at risk any more. I don't want you getting hurt because you're with me. The sight of you on that ventilator…"

"Jim, this was caused by a disease. It was nothing anybody did."

"Right, and what about the Golden, huh? Or here's another one of my personal favorites, you chained to a fucking dentist's chair while a serial killer pours sedatives down your throat so he can drown you and become you."

"I'm a popular guy."

Jim rounded on him, his eyes blazing. "Don't you dare make a joke out of it. You've been shot, kidnapped, dropped in an elevator. Not the sort of thing that happens to your everyday university professor." He stopped and took a deep, slow breath, then dropped back into his chair. "I still think you wouldn't have gotten so sick if you hadn't had the pneumonia from the drowning to fight as well."

"Thank you, Dr. Ellison." Blair smiled to take the sting from his sarcasm. "Look, Jim, three years ago, I approached you with an idea. I told you I could help you with your senses and get the information I needed for my dissertation. If I didn't know then what I was getting into, I certainly found out pretty damn quick. I've had every opportunity since Veronica Sarris blew up that bus to pull out, and I know you wouldn't think any less of me. It's still my choice, my life. Incacha trusted me enough to appoint me Shaman of the Great City and to be your guide. This is where it began, and I guess this is where it will end." Blair reached out and took Jim's hand. "Do you trust me, Jim?"

"Of course I do."

"Then trust me enough to know that I know what I'm doing, and that I'm right where I want to be. I'll stay away from the station until Dr. Parry says I'm ready to go back. All right?"

"All right."

"Dinner ready?"

Jim smiled and stood up. "Dinner's ready."

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, though Jim still had misgivings about Blair returning to the precinct. After dinner they watched a 'Die Hard' movie. Blair fell asleep halfway through it. Jim roused him enough to help him walk to his bedroom, with Blair muttering darkly about slave-driver gym instructors around a jaw-cracking yawn. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Jim sat down and watched the rest of the movie through half-lidded eyes, then gave up as the closing credits began to roll and headed for bed as well. He had an early start the following day, with a court appearance thrown in just to make life interesting. Crawling wearily into bed, Jim automatically dialed up his hearing and anchored on the heartbeat of his guide. Its regular, soothing beat soon had him drifting off.

00000

Jim startled from a deep, dreamless slumber. Sitting up in his bed, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and yawned widely. Unsure what had woken him, he extended his hearing into the bedroom below and focused on Blair. His roommate's heart rate and breathing were slow and even, the soft snore Jim could hear indicating he was still asleep.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Jim glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and cursed. He was late. In his exhaustion the night before, caught up in his concern over Blair coming back to the PD, he'd forgotten to set the alarm.

Quickly making his way downstairs, Jim calculated the time he had. If he skipped breakfast and shaved in the shower, he'd probably make it to the station before Simon lost his temper.

He showered rapidly and stepped from the bathroom, wrapping his towel around his waist. His gaze strayed longingly to the coffeepot sitting on the bench in the kitchen. Later, he admonished himself. Turning toward the stairs, his foot hit the first riser as Blair's drowsy voice summoned him.

Walking down the short hallway, he pushed open Blair's bedroom door, and smiled at the lump that shifted slightly in the bed, a muffled groan emanating from beneath the covers. A disheveled mass of curls appeared and two eyes gazed sleepily at him.

"Jim?"

"Morning, sunshine. Look, buddy, I'm running real late here, so you think you could make do with some cold cereal for breakfast? I'll bring you some juice as well."

Blair blinked slowly at him as though trying to digest the verbal onslaught, and scratched at his morning bristles. "'kay." Jim smiled gratefully. "Can I have a shower before you go?"

Jim tried not to grit his teeth. "Why don't you sleep in and just have a wash when you get up? I'll be home early this afternoon and I'll help you with your shower then. I'll leave your cereal and juice on the table."

Blair opened his mouth as though to protest, and Jim tried to hurry whatever he was going to say with a mental shove as he looked with growing alarm at the clock on Blair's desk.

Finally, Blair nodded. "Sure, no problem." He waved a loose wrist. "Forget breakfast. I'll get something when I get up."

Jim hesitated. "Are you sure? It'll only take a minute."

"Too tired still to be hungry." As though to emphasize the remark, Blair yawned loudly and rolled onto his belly, snuggling into his pillow with a sigh.

"Okay, buddy. I'll phone you from work."

"'Kay. 'Bye."

00000

There was a chipped tile beneath his cheek and more than anything else, he wished he could move his head. In the grand scheme of things, it should have been a minor annoyance, but it had grown out of all proportion into the one thing that his exhausted brain could no longer cope with.

A cool breeze gusted over his naked, now-dry body, and he shivered. Distantly, he heard the phone ring and then voices spoke as the answering machine picked up, but he could no longer decipher the words.

Jim had called earlier, though he was unsure now how long ago it had been. He thought he had slept for a time, shuddering awake at the rude interruption of the phone. He'd chuckled a little hysterically, as Jim demanded he pick up the phone.

_Would if I could, man. _

He'd felt a despairing lump form in his throat as he'd recognized Simon's voice in the background. "Jesus, Jim, don't wake the kid up if he's sleeping. Just leave a message. If worst comes to worst, you can leave a little early and stop by to pick it up."

Then Jim's voice again, sounding worried. "Okay, Chief. You said last night you were going to stop by after you'd been to the library. Could you come here first and bring the Hudson file with you? I left it on the dining room table. Thanks. Get some rest."

There was more indistinct chatter and then Jim spoke again. "Brown says to say hi."

_Hi, H_, Blair thought wearily.

He really wanted to go back to sleep, but that damn chunk of tile was making itself known again, digging into his cheek like a boulder, and he whimpered a little at the pain. He didn't think he'd be able to take it for much longer. He wondered idly if you could go crazy from having a chipped tile digging into your face. Probably not.

He really wished now that he'd done what Jim had said. He smiled a little at that. It wouldn't be the first time. All he'd wanted was a shower, but the doctor said he still needed someone with him and Jim had been in a rush.

"Why don't you sleep in and just have a wash when you get up? I'll be home early this afternoon and I'll help you with your shower then."

He'd been about to protest when he saw Jim glance at his watch, noticed the faint tapping of his foot, the quick, almost casual glance at the alarm clock on Blair's desk. "Sure, no problem."

He waited until he heard the front door slam shut, then struggled out of bed; his muscles were still a little weak and unwieldy first thing in the morning. Shouldn't be that hard to climb into the tub and have a shower, should it? And it wasn't. It was the getting out that was a killer.

He wasn't sure now if he slipped, or simply fell. All he could remember was a brief overwhelming terror as his legs gave out, and then a mind-numbing thump as he hit the hard floor.

He came back to awareness some time later, and he'd been lying on the cold bathroom floor ever since, willing his recalcitrant body to move. Or at least his head. He was going to go crazy if he couldn't move his head.

The front door slammed, and then a shadow loomed in the doorway. "Sandburg? Oh, God."

He opened his bleary eyes and tried to focus on the shape striding toward him and now dropping down at his side. _Jim, thank God you're home._ At least, that's what he wanted to say, but all he could manage was a rather pathetic wail.

He felt Jim lean closer to him and felt fingers press into his neck. The touch was more than reassuring, the warmth in Jim's fingers was positively delicious, and he fought to lift his head in order to experience more of the wonderful heat. The tile dug cruelly into the flesh of his cheek and his body trembled from the exertion, then he sank back to the floor with a moan of frustration.

He managed to lift one hand enough to twine his fingers weakly in the sleeve of Jim's shirt. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring the saliva and blood that dribbled down his chin, he forced out his one request. "Up."

Jim shot him down in flames. "Not yet, Chief. You could have spinal injuries. Let's wait until the paramedics get here."

Blair gritted his teeth and taloned his fingers so tightly in Jim's sleeve, he thought they would break. "Up," he repeated. "Please."

He felt embarrassed by the tears that dripped down his cheeks and mixed with the mucus that dribbled from his nose, but this was too important. "Up," he said again.

Jim watched him for a moment then taking Blair's icy hand in his, he extended his other hand and ran it along Blair's neck and down his naked spine. "You realize if I zone doing this, Sandburg, we're both in deep shit."

"I - guide," Blair whispered, absurdly pleased to get out an entire sentence with only minor slurring.

"Okay." He felt Jim's large hand ruffle his hair then at last he was carefully rolled from his stomach to his side. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Jim lowered himself to the floor, then he was pulled up to rest against Jim's broad, firm chest. As he felt something large and warm settle over his chilled body, Blair sobbed in relief and let the darkness take him.

00000

Jim stroked a gentle finger down the bloody indentation on Blair's cheek. "That's a nasty gash you've got there. You ready to let me phone 911 now and get some help?" There was no answer. Growing more concerned by the second, Jim managed to pull out his cell phone and call for help.

He sat on the cold floor, briskly rubbing Blair's arms and legs, wrapping the bath sheet more closely around the shivering body and praying that his worst nightmare hadn't come true.

Activity and voices from the other room dragged him from an almost-zone where he'd retreated as he'd monitored Blair's heart rate and breathing. Coming back to awareness with a shudder, Jim called out to the paramedics to let them know where they were, and opened up his senses once more to check on his roommate.

Blair's breathing and heartbeat were regular, though somewhat slow, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. His partner was still shivering spasmodically, but a hand on Blair's brow and down his bare back beneath the towel reassured Jim that his body temperature had risen fractionally since he'd first arrived.

"Detective Ellison?" A blue-uniformed figure knelt at Jim's side, and he shook himself from his examination and looked up at a young Hispanic face. The paramedic smiled and laid a hand against Blair's throat. "You probably don't remember me, sir. We transported your friend to Cascade General a month or two back."

Jim nodded, though his memory of the people involved at the time was hazy. His focus had been entirely on Sandburg. Even now, the remembrance of finding Blair collapsed on the floor by his bed sent a shiver snaking down his spine.

_Not again_, Jim thought. _It's not supposed to happen again_. A shaking of his shoulder reined in his chaotic thoughts, and he shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on the paramedic's words. "What?"

"Can you tell me what happened here?" The paramedic - his nametag read Juan Davide - had wrapped a BP cuff around Blair's upper arm and was pumping up the sphygmomanometer, his eyes focused on the numbers on the dial. Through the doorway, Jim could see a second medic unloading equipment from an orange box that sat on top of a gurney in the hall.

Jim scrubbed the hand that wasn't hanging onto Sandburg over his face. "Sorry. I came home and he was here on the floor. I don't…" God, he felt so helpless, so numb. "I don't know what happened."

Juan nodded and patted his shoulder. "That's all right."

The paramedic accepted the blanket his partner handed him and draped it over Blair's unmoving body, then strapped an oxygen mask onto his face. "He's got a bump on his head and a gash on his cheek." He looked over at the tub. "Looks to me like he fell out the tub. Was he conscious when you found him?"

"Yeah," Jim rasped. "Sort of. He wanted me to get him off the floor. Wouldn't take no for an answer." He looked quickly at the paramedic. "I checked his spine. I was a medic in the army. I couldn't feel any damage."

Juan looked at him curiously but nodded. "That's okay. His blood pressure's a little low and so is his pulse, but he's breathing nice and easy. He's a little hypothermic. Let's concentrate on getting him to the hospital, all right?"

He reeled off a series of orders to the young blond man accompanying him then helped to support Blair's lolling head as the other medic secured a collar around his neck. A backboard came next, and Jim closed his eyes to shutter the memory of the last time he'd been a witness to this.

He watched as Blair was log rolled to his back, then carefully carried out of the bathroom and lifted onto the gurney. Exhausted and chilled, Jim staggered to his feet. He collapsed to one knee, his legs numb from the enforced wait on the cold, hard floor, and nodded his thanks as Juan held out a helping hand and hefted him upright.

"You all right, Detective?"

"Yeah. Legs are numb, that's all. He's recovering from Guillian-Barre syndrome," he added as he helped maneuver the gurney through the front door. He was amazed that the name rolled so smoothly off his tongue.

"I remember," Juan replied. "Okay. Let's get him down to the ambulance. Harry, you drive, I'm gonna sit in back. You riding with us, Detective?"

Jim picked up his cell phone from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "Yes."

"All right. Let's roll. I'll start an IV en route."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Jim?"

Jim Ellison looked around from where he stood at the front desk filling in yet another interminable admission form, and straightened as Simon Banks hurried toward him. "Simon. Thanks for coming down."

The captain nodded tersely and clapped him on the shoulder. "What the hell happened?"

Jim shook his head and led the way to the waiting area, where he slumped into a seat and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "I'm not exactly sure. He regained consciousness in the ambulance, but he wasn't entirely coherent."

He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands before sitting back up and staring fixedly at Simon, his jaw grinding madly. "He wanted me to help him with his shower this morning. I was in a rush to get in to start working on the Hudson case." He looked chagrined. "So much of a rush I left it on the dining room table. Anyway, I asked him to wait until I came home this afternoon. Obviously, he decided to have a shower anyway. The real question is whether he fell or whether something else…"

His voice broke and he looked up at Simon, his eyes haunted. "I swear, sir, when I walked in and saw him lying there…"

Simon patted his knee comfortingly. "What did the doctors say?"

"I'm still waiting to hear something." He smiled tiredly. "We only got here fifteen minutes ago. You made good time. What did you do, run the lights and siren all the way?"

Simon shrugged. "Only on the busy roads."

"God, Simon. What if it's come back?"

"Can that happen?"

Jim's reply was cut short by a summons from a young dark-haired doctor who strode toward them. "Detective Ellison. I'm Doctor—"

"Carter," Jim replied, standing and shaking the doctor's hand. "I remember you. This is my boss, Captain Simon Banks. How's Blair?"

The doctor motioned for the two men to sit, then sank into a chair opposite them with a sigh. "Before you worry too much, it's not GBS again. Well, not in its aggressive form. I think Blair's just been overdoing it, trying to rush his recovery."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Simon muttered.

"He's been told that he should still have someone with him when he showers, or is on his feet for reasonably long periods, hasn't he?"

"It's my fault," Jim put in, looking miserable. "I was in a hurry this morning, and I asked him to wait until I got home."

Doctor Carter smiled gently at him. "I'm not apportioning blame here, Detective. Blair knows what his limitations are right now. If he chose not to wait, you can hardly be blamed for not knowing that."

"That's the thing," Jim said, turning to Simon. "I should have known he'd do that. I should have gone back this morning and checked when he didn't pick up the phone."

"Jim! Enough!" Simon's tone was sharp enough to cut through the verbal onslaught. Simon softened his voice. "Let the doctor finish, all right? Then we can go and see Sandburg."

Jim took a deep breath and nodded slowly, then turned back to Steve Carter. "Sorry, doc. Go on."

The doctor nodded and tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear in a move so reminiscent of Blair that Jim sucked in a breath. "What I think happened was that he stood up for too long and his blood pressure took a dive. You'll remember, Jim, that one of the symptoms of GBS is low blood pressure."

He continued when Jim nodded. "Okay, I think he had a case of postural hypotension and fainted as he got out of the tub. He hit his chest as he went down. His sternum is badly bruised, so it's going to hurt to breathe for a bit. He also has a gash on his cheek, but that just needed a couple of butterfly strips to close it."

He opened the file he held on his lap and studied it briefly before speaking again. "Apart from that, he was a little cold and dehydrated when he came in, so we're working on warming him up right now, and he has a mild wheeze in his chest. I've prescribed some Aminophylline and antibiotics for that. I'm not overly concerned about his lungs yet. We'll keep an eye on things."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded, then stood. "I'll take you back to him. I'd like to keep him here overnight, but he's not being very cooperative." He grinned, the smile making him look extremely boyish. "No surprise there. Perhaps you can convince him."

Jim nodded as they followed the doctor back to the trauma rooms. "If you think he should stay, believe me, he's staying."

00000

"I'm not staying, so would you please give me back my pants?"

Jim pushed open the door and shook his head in exasperation at the sight before him. Blair sat sideways on the gurney, a blanket wrapped loosely about his shoulders, his bare legs dangling over the side of the bed. An IV dangled from the arm he extended toward the nurse, and patches from a heart monitor festooned his hairy chest. Jim could see the dark bruising that already shaded Blair's sternum, and the cut on his cheek stood out starkly against the pallor of his skin.

"I think you should do what the doctor wants, Chief," Jim said, walking into the room and heading straight over to his side.

He lifted Blair's legs and deposited them back on the bed, noticing the chill of his skin and smelling the slightly sour taint of dehydration on his breath. Pressing Blair back against the pillows, Jim rearranged the blankets over him and patted him gently on the shoulder. "Just for tonight, huh? Make sure you're okay."

Blair shook his head vehemently, his brow creasing as though he was in pain. "Jim, I can't. I'm so far behind on my dissertation and my classes that they'll ask me to leave."

"You know that's not going to happen," Jim soothed. "The Dean said that they understood your circumstances and they're prepared to give you extra time."

"I don't want to wait," Blair answered doggedly. "I'm sick of lying around, waiting to get better, feel stronger." He punched a weak fist on the covers and tried to surreptitiously wipe away the tear that snaked down his cheek.

Jim hooked a foot around the leg of a rolling stool and pulled it closer so he could sit down. "I know it's got to be as frustrating as hell, Chief, but you are getting better. And a whole lot faster than the doctors thought you would. Melissa's attack set you back a little, but you've been surging ahead these past few weeks. You've just got to be patient."

"I'm worried about you," Blair whispered. "I'm supposed to be your backup."

"Conner's got that covered for now," Jim answered, stroking his thumb over the back of Blair's hand, pleased to feel the tension begin to dissipate. "You know Simon won't let me go out without backup."

Blair's eyes had drifted closed. "What if you zone?"

"I haven't zoned in months, Sandburg. You trained me well, and I'm not overextending myself until you're back on deck with me."

"Can I come home tomorrow?"

Jim smiled and squeezed Blair's hand. "You bet. I'll be here first thing after lunch."

"I've got to study." Blair's voice was just a murmur now. He winced and shifted slightly in the bed. "Can you stay until I'm asleep?"

"They're coming now to take you up to your room. I'm not going anywhere." Standing as the door was pushed open, Jim stepped back to allow the orderlies access to their patient, then, picking up Blair's things, followed them from the trauma room and into the elevator.

Jim waited in the hallway until Blair was settled, then tiptoed inside and seated himself in a chair by the bed. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't stay all night. He had an early start at the station the following day, and he'd already used up much of his sick leave when Blair had first become ill. He sat by his partner's side until Blair's breathing deepened into the rhythms of sleep, then he slipped out of the room, leaving a message with the nurse at the desk that he'd return the following day.

00000

Jim was late. Blair paced the confines of his hospital room with short, choppy steps, pausing on each pass of the doorway to search for a sign of his errant partner.

"Hey, Chief. Ready to go?"

Jim's cheery voice startled him just as he reached the far wall and he jumped then stumbled as he spun on his heel to face his partner. The fleeting flash of fear spilled his mounting impatience into anger.

"You're late," he snapped, casting a quick glance at old Mr. Donnatelli, who dozed in the second bed.

"I said I'd be here after lunch." Jim's voice was calm and reasoning as he took hold of Blair's elbow and helped him limp toward the waiting wheelchair.

Blair snatched his arm away and sat himself down. "Lunch is at midday here," he said peevishly. "So we can all take a nap like good little girls and boys."

Jim's voice was quiet above him. "I didn't know that. I guess I should have checked."

A small white hospital bag dropped in to Blair's lap and he picked it up, shaking it curiously.

"Your meds," Jim supplied. "I picked them up on the way in."

"We could have gotten them on the way out."

Jim leaned down to release the brake and Blair felt a sigh of breath on his neck. "I figured you'd be in a hurry to get home."

"I am." A large hand patted his shoulder, and this time Blair allowed it to remain there, accepting the offer of conciliation. He closed his eyes, forcing back the tide of anger that threatened to overwhelm him, and when he opened them, his sight was blurred and softened.

Raising a hand, he wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, smearing the wetness of his frustrated tears. Glancing quickly around the room for a final check of forgotten items, he saw a pair of beady black eyes watching him from a wizened face. Blair smiled. "You take care, Mr. D. Don't go giving the nurses too much of a hard time."

The old man nodded, his thin lips widening to reveal toothless gums, and one thumb was slowly raised from the bed. "Cool," he croaked.

Blair gave a small hee of amusement and looked up at Jim. "I taught him that. He's been saying it all morning."

00000

Christ, he was tired. Jim cast a sidelong glance at his partner as he steered the truck into a parking space in front of the apartment. Blair sat slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window, hie eyelids fluttering slightly in response to some unknown dream.

He was still too pale. The cut on his cheek stood out, stark and angry-looking, and his ever-present beard stubble threw his face into sharp angles that made him look pinched and worn. He looked like he should still be in the hospital, Jim thought as he switched off the ignition.

Simon had begrudgingly given him the rest of the day off to get Blair settled. Though the captain's concern for his roommate equaled Jim's, there was a job to be done, and both men knew that the felons weren't going to take a holiday just because Jim had a day off.

They were closing in on a serial arsonist who'd escalated to bombing, and Simon had the Commissioner breathing down his neck, demanding closure. Jim clamped his jaw down ruthlessly on the moan of despair that welled up in his throat. Fuck, when was it all going to end?

He turned back to Blair to find him awake and watching him closely, sadness pulling his lips downward and scrunching his forehead into a frown.

"You okay, man? You look really wiped."

"I am," Jim admitted, feeling some of the weight lift at the admission. "We both are." He reached over and undid Blair's seatbelt as his fumbling fingers refused to do the job. "There's a couple of couches with our names on them upstairs. Let's go."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

"I'm telling you, Casey, this is driving me crazy." Blair straightened up from his bowed position over the exercise ball and gratefully accepted the trainer's hand. He slumped down onto a nearby bench and wiped a shaky hand over his sweaty brow.

Casey sat next to him and shook his head at Blair's offer of a bottle of water. "No, thanks. Look, Blair, you're coming along in leaps and bounds. You're doing stuff today that you couldn't even attempt a week ago."

"You sound like Jim," Blair said grumpily. He pulled a towel from his bag and began to wipe himself down.

Casey shrugged. "I'm Jim's friend. We've both been where you are now, albeit for different reasons. When I took that punch from Davis, I didn't think I'd ever walk again, let alone be running a gym. And your partner? I've lost count of the number of times he's limped here with some injury or another. You've got to persevere."

"I know that, but I've got obligations, deadlines, a social life!" He elbowed Casey in the ribs none too gently at the other man's snort of laughter. "I'm serious here. Well, maybe not about the social life, but look, I come in here, work out for an hour, then I go home and I'm so exhausted, I can't see straight. I'm thinking that I have to reorganize my priorities a little."

"In what way?" Casey held out a hand to help Blair to his feet.

Blair shook his head. "I'm not sure yet," he replied as he limped slowly toward the showers. "There's got to be some way that I can work out and get my strength back quickly so I can get back out on the street with Jim, and still have the energy to write my dissertation, maybe get back to teaching a few classes. God knows I could use the money. This place doesn't come cheap. No offence."

"None taken," Casey called out. "Just remember, Blair, there are no shortcuts." He turned as someone called his name. "Blair, you wait for me, okay? I'll be there in five minutes."

Blair waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah."

"I mean it, Sandburg. You get in that shower before I'm there, and Jim is going to kick your butt and then mine."

Blair pushed open the door to the shower room and walked slowly over to the bench. He lowered himself carefully, and busied himself pulling fresh clothes and toiletries from his gym bag.

"Mr. Sandburg? Blair?"

Blair looked up to see a well-built young man standing by the door. "Hi. Can I help you?"

The young man shook his head. "I might be able to help you, though."

"How's that?"

"Do you mind if I sit down?" He indicated the bench.

"No, I don't mind."

The man nodded his thanks and lowered himself to sit beside Blair. "I overheard you talking to Casey. I've suffered from a similar problem, and I think I can help you out."

00000

"150!" Blair's eyes bulged in shock. "Oh, man, I don't know. That's a lot of money."

Mike Jones shrugged. "Compared to sitting on your butt and not being able to live your life? I think it's a cheap price to pay."

"Are you sure they're legal?" Blair eyed the small jar nervously and shook it.

"Check at your local pharmacy, man. You can buy them over the counter."

"Why should I buy them from you, then? I don't have a whole lot of money."

Mike shrugged and held out his hand for the bottle. Blair hesitated, his fingers tightening around the plastic vial. "Look," Mike said finally, "Suit yourself. I've got plenty of people who want to buy these."

"I'm just careful about what I put in my body, that's all. I mostly practice holistic medicine."

"That's why I only take these. Do you know what sort of crap pharmaceutical companies are putting in their products these days? This stuff is pure, natural."

Blair had a memory of Jim, his senses whacked out and wildly erratic after he'd taken a commercial cold medicine. "Why do you take them?"

"I suffer from chronic fatigue syndrome, myalgic encephalitis. I've tried everything." Mike chuckled. "Some really weird stuff too, like ice baths. Anyway, nothing works. I'm a medical student. The physical and mental demands of medicine are tough enough without feeling so tired you want to sleep for twenty hours a day."

"Couldn't you just defer your studies until you get better? Rainier's been pretty understanding about my absences."

"I know of people who've had ME for ten years and are still no better than when they first contracted it. I don't have ten years to wait." Mike shifted impatiently on his feet and glanced at his watch. "So, you want them or not? I've got to get going."

He held out his hand again, and after a slight hesitation, Blair pocketed the pills and pulled out his wallet. "Guess Jim'll wait another couple of weeks for rent. I'm so far behind now, it doesn't matter."

00000

"Come on, mate. Why don't you drop the knife - carefully? There's more police on the way. You're not doing yourself any favors here."

Jim's gaze flickered briefly from the man standing in front of him to Megan Conner. The perp's stance was tense and unyielding, his face shiny with sweat, and his pupils dilated and struggling to focus. The Australian inspector stood with firm resolve etched on her face, her gun steadied in both hands, the barrel aimed unwaveringly at the strung-out thief.

They'd been returning to the station after another unsuccessful stakeout, and all Jim had wanted to do was go home to bed. As they'd turned onto 4th Street in Chinatown, a man had come running out of the small restaurant a few blocks away.

Not bothering to look where he was going, he'd run straight across the road in front of them. Jim slammed on the brakes just in time to bring the vehicle to a jolting halt, though the man had collided noisily with the front bumper of the truck and bounced back to the ground. As he staggered back to his feet and took off again, Jim's enhanced sight caught the unmistakable glint of steel clenched in his hand.

Throwing the truck into gear, Jim barked an order to Conner to call for backup then added a request for an ambulance as he saw a small Chinese man stagger from the restaurant clutching his arm, a dark shadow of blood evident on his white sleeve.

By the time Conner finished the call and ran up to join him, Jim had the man boxed in at the end of an alley. Jim held his position as the knife swung menacingly toward him. In the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens. All his senses seemed to be on full alert, adrenaline honing their edge, and he knew he should probably dial them back, but the dial seemed to be stubbornly stuck, and a concerted effort would mean taking his attention from the armed man in front of them.

A car horn blared shatteringly against Jim's eardrums and he staggered, almost going down to his knees as he clamped his hands desperately to his ears. From the corner of his eye, he saw the perp slash out at Conner and heard her grunt in pain, her weapon clattering to the asphalt.

As Jim surged back up to his feet, the man charged him, one outflung fist smashing into his mouth, knocking him onto his butt. His attacker took off like a frightened rabbit back toward the street. Jim regained his footing almost instantly, grimacing at the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, and took a step toward his downed partner. "Conner?"

"I'm okay." Megan's voice was tight with pain and edged with anger. "Go. I'm fine."

Jim needed no further encouragement. He pounded back toward the mouth of the alley, the man's retreating footsteps echoing toward him. His foot skidded out from beneath him suddenly, and Jim cursed as he found himself on his hands and knees in a pool of stagnant, greasy water.

Ruthlessly wrenching down the dial for smell as he fought not to gag on the stench of rotting refuse, he climbed back to his feet, ignoring the sting of grazed palms and knees, and took off again. Rounding the corner onto Main Street, Jim became aware that the running footsteps had stopped. Cautiously, he tried to filter through the ringing in his ears, focusing instead on the street sounds around him, attempting to pinpoint the location of the thief.

Blair's voice whispered to him, his guide's voice low and calm in his mind. 'Sift through the noises. Discard what you don't need.'

There. Just beyond him, hidden in the shadows of the next block of stores. Jim could hear the man's strained breathing and pounding heart. Stepping up carefully, he saw the perp was facing away from him, his attention on the flashing lights of the police car parked at the curb a few yards away.

Jim tapped the man on the shoulder and stepped back quickly, leveling his weapon at the thief's head. "Let's try this again. Drop the knife - carefully."

00000

By the time he handed the cuffed man off to the uniforms and made his way back to the alley, Conner was seated in the back of an ambulance next to an ashen-faced Chinese man. She looked pale, but smiled wanly as he climbed into the rig.

"How you doing, Conner?"

Megan stroked a finger over the white gauze that wrapped around her upper arm. "Just a scratch. I take it you got him?"

"Yeah."

"Think I can get a claim in for my jacket?"

Jim gestured ruefully at his torn and stained trousers. "Let me know if you do. I'm gonna need a new pair of pants."

00000

Blair looked up from his laptop as the apartment door opened and Jim walked in. Blair glanced at the clock, surprised at the lateness of the hour. He couldn't remember when he'd last been able to stay awake this long. The thought cheered him immensely. Finally, he was seeing some improvement.

"Hey, Jim. How was work?" Blair's voice trailed away as Jim merely grunted at him and limped toward the bathroom. Blair's mouth dropped open at his partner's bedraggled appearance. Jim's shirt and pants were filthy, stained with dirt and something undistinguishable that Blair would rather not think about. One sleeve was partially torn from the shoulder of his shirt, and the knees of his pants were stained with blood.

Blair pulled himself up from the couch then waited a moment until he was sure of his balance before following Jim. He made it to the bathroom just as the door shut. He hovered for a second uncertainly then smiled as the door opened to reveal Jim's bruised face.

"Bad day, Sandburg," Jim said tiredly, wincing as the split in his lip opened up and oozed blood. "Long story." At Blair's worried frown, he sighed. "I'm fine. It's late. How come you're not in bed already?"

"Got caught up in some really interesting research about Australian Aborigines and their tracking abilities," Blair answered. "I'm not even tired."

"That's great, Chief. Don't overdo it, huh? I'm gonna take a shower."

By the time Jim emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, Blair had the first aid kit set up next to a grilled cheese sandwich and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. He pulled out a chair and pointed to it. "Have a seat, man."

Jim did as he was asked, but protested at the same time. "I'm okay. Just grazed my hands and knees a little."

Blair silenced him with one hand, and handed him a sweater with the other. "Leave your pants off until I fix your knees." As Jim opened his mouth again, Blair pointed to the sandwich. "Don't talk, eat. Let me look after you for a change."

Jim growled in exasperation, then smiled guiltily as his stomach grumbled. Finally, he gave up the fight and reached for the sandwich. Blair grinned and lifted one of Jim's legs onto his lap. "So, Detective Ellison. How was your day?"

00000

Blair's head jerked up from where it had drooped onto his chest as he finally succumbed to sleep. He stretched extravagantly and yawned, looking around the room in some confusion as he tried to get his bearings. 'Oh, living room. Right.'

He'd fallen asleep on the couch after bandaging up Jim's injuries and sending the weary detective up to bed. He'd still felt a little wired from his study, and probably to some degree from the pill he'd taken when he'd first gotten home from the gym.

Blair shook the lingering drowsiness from his head and stood up carefully. He could hear Jim moving around upstairs, so he made his way into the kitchen to make coffee and start breakfast. Since his fall just over a week before, Jim had been getting up a half-hour earlier than normal to help Blair with his shower before going to work.

It was another thing Blair added to his guilt list and it made him more determined than ever to push his recovery. It would have not mattered as much if Blair had been helping Jim out with his senses in return, but these days he was reduced to doing a few simple tests and exercises, if and when he could find the energy and Jim could spare the time.

The full coffeepot slipped suddenly as his hands refused to take the extra weight. It crashed onto the sink, showering him with water and tearing him abruptly from his thoughts. "Shit!"

"Sandburg? You okay?" Jim's voice came from the top of the stairs, and Blair could hear him padding quickly down.

Blair shuffled back a little from the sink and pulled his soaking shirt away from his skin. "I'm fine," he assured Jim. "I don't think I'll need a shower this morning, though."

"Here, let me get that." Jim's strong hands pushed Blair's out of the way and set the pot on the hotplate.

Blair felt irrational anger flash fire through his veins. "I'm not a cripple," he ground out.

"I know that," Jim replied. He looked flustered as he cast about looking for something to mop up the water. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

Blair took a slow, shaky breath and accepted the dishcloth that Jim held out to him. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he said, swabbing at his shirt. "That was uncalled for. I'll go take a shower." He held up a silencing hand when Jim opened his mouth. "I'll call you when I'm ready to get in."

Blair showered and dressed with some help from Jim. Fiddly things such as buttons and shoelaces were still beyond the capability of his clumsy, partly numb fingers. By the time he emerged from his bedroom, Jim had served up breakfast and was pouring coffee.

"So, Chief, what have you got planned for today?"

Blair smiled, and was relieved to see an answering grin grace Jim's face, indicating their earlier disagreement was forgiven. He felt guilty and rather surprised by his earlier outburst. "I'm heading over to the university this morning. Can I get a ride with you?"

He was under doctor's orders not to drive until they could be sure that the collapse of the previous week would not occur again.

"What about your workout?"

"I could get a cab there once I'm done at the university…"

Jim waved the suggestion away as he stood and carried his empty plate to the kitchen. "I've got a couple hours of paperwork to get done. How about I swing by after and pick you up? We can grab an early lunch first."

"Sounds like a plan." Blair helped Jim clear the table, then packed his backpack while Jim finished the dishes.

"Okay," Jim said as he dried the frying pan and replaced it on the ceiling hook. "What time do you think you'll be finished?"

"I'm not sure," Blair answered as they walked to the front door. "Why don't I phone you when I'm done? If you can't get there right away, I can always visit with Scott or Kathy for a while."

Jim smiled and clapped Blair on the back. "All right. That'll work."

While Jim busied himself getting their jackets and taking hold of Blair's backpack, Blair extricated a caffeine pill from his pocket and dry swallowed it.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Seventeen**

Blair left the Dean's office feeling weary, but elated. After a discussion with the head of the anthropological department, the Dean had agreed to allow Blair to return to teach two classes per week. Both were morning introductory classes, which suited him, as he was more rested and alert then, and it still gave him time for his gym workout and a rest in the afternoon. Both of those were things that Blair knew Jim would not barter over.

Feeling more confident than he had in months, he decided to approach Simon about returning to work with Jim at the station on a part-time basis. He debated whether to catch a bus to the precinct and surprise Jim, then decided against it. The last thing he needed now was Jim in Blessed Protector mode.

He suspected his partner was not going to be overly impressed that Blair hadn't told him the reason for going to the university. Blair eased his conscience with the thought that he hadn't lied, nor even obfuscated. He had merely withheld certain details and Jim hadn't asked him to elaborate.

Walking outside, he saw a bench nearby and sat, catching his breath. His legs were feeling a little shaky and his stomach felt queasy, no doubt due to his nervousness about his meeting with the Dean.

Reaching down to pull his cell phone from his backpack, Blair paused for a moment as the world suddenly spun and his vision grayed out briefly. A headache, exquisitely painful, flared for a moment in his skull, and he sat back quickly, grasping his phone in a suddenly sweaty hand. Pressing the button for Jim's desk phone, he closed his eyes against the glaring brightness of the sun and waited for his partner to answer.

"Ellison's desk. Detective Brown speaking."

"Henri? Where's Jim?"

"Hairboy!" Henri's voice took on a delighted tone. "How you doing, man?"

"I'm good, Henri. Where's Jim?"

"Stakeout. He couldn't reach you. Said if you called and needed a ride, for me to swing by and get you."

Blair felt inexplicably disappointed at Henri's words then scolded himself silently. He could hardly expect Jim to put his job on hold just because he wasn't up to it. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

"You still there?"

Henri's voice disrupted his reverie and he blinked a couple of times, willing away the pounding in his head. "Yeah. I'm here. Look, don't worry about it, H. I'll call a cab."

"And have Ellison on my case? No way!" Henri answered. "Where are you? I'm on my way."

"Okay, thanks. I'm at Hargrove Hall. Where my office is."

Henri didn't seem to pick up the hesitancy in Blair's tone. "No problem, man. I'll see you in fifteen."

00000

Normally, Blair enjoyed Henri's boisterous banter but today it was just making his head pound harder. "You sure you don't want to stop for a bite to eat?" Henri asked. "We could get some enchiladas from that new Mexican place. You look like you could use a few more pounds on those bones."

Blair began to shake his head, then thought better of it. "It's been a long day, H, but I'll take a rain-check. I should be going to the gym, but I think I'll skip that as well."

"Can I get you anything? You sure you're going to be all right on your own?" Henri asked, looking doubtful. "After the other week…"

Blair had the passenger door open before Henri had fully stopped the car. "I'm fine," he assured the other man. "Just a little tired. Thanks, H." He squeezed Henri's shoulder to reassure him, and then walked into the apartment building with a final wave.

00000

Another all night stakeout. Basing his hunches on clues left at the previous bomb and arson scenes by the bomber himself, Joel Taggert had organized a task force to stakeout eight warehouses that he considered most likely to be the bomber's next target.

The man had been taunting them for weeks now, ever since he'd decided that he couldn't get enough excitement from starting fires and had progressed to bombs. So far, there had only been minor injuries, but the bomber was becoming more brazen. The warehouses he was targeting now were closer to the residential areas of Cascade.

Jim waved away the thermos of coffee that Simon held under his nose. "No, thanks, sir. I already feel like I'm swimming in the stuff."

"I know what you mean." Banks tried to stifle a yawn, then gave it full rein before continuing. "I tell you, Jim, I'm beat. If we don't get a break in this case soon, I think I'm going to retire."

"You wouldn't do that," Jim countered, flashing the captain an amused sidelong glance. "You thrive on the suspense."

Simon snorted. "My ex thrives on my pay packet, you mean. By the time she takes her alimony and Daryl takes an allowance, there's barely enough left over for my cigar stash." He fingered the tube of tobacco in its leather case lovingly. "You're not going to let me smoke this in here, are you?"

"No, sir…"

Jim stopped as Simon's cell phone buzzed softly. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he flipped it open and answered. "Banks." He listened carefully to the caller then nodded to Jim. "All right. Thanks. Have all units move into our location. I want three cars blocking all possible exits out of the area." He looked at Jim. "Bomber called. We've got ten minutes. Bomb squad is on the way."

"Ten minutes? That's not enough time. I'm going in to take a look around. Maybe I can track it down."

"Let's go."

Jim made his way quickly to the warehouse. Dialing up his senses, he scanned the surrounding area, but could see no sign of other people. They'd suspected that perhaps the man was watching from a distance, getting a thrill from the buildings being decimated.

He could hear Simon's heartbeat behind him, the rate just a little fast as adrenaline began to surge. Simon's cell phone rang again and the captain stopped and pulled it from his pocket.

Opening the warehouse door, Jim stepped into the darkened interior, grimacing as the squeak of rusty hinges grated on his sensitive hearing. He froze as something skittered over his foot, probably a rat, he decided from the screech it gave as it encountered an intruder in its territory.

Standing just inside the doorway, he took a deep breath and carefully cast out a sensory net, but could discern only the intermittent creaking of the building frame and water dripping rhythmically somewhere to his right.

He was barely aware of someone stepping up beside him as he sorted through the assorted sounds of the night and a dozen different heartbeats as cars pulled up outside and police piled out. Evenly measured clicks. He thought he had the timer pinpointed, but his control slipped as someone bumped against him.

Cursing, he shook himself mentally and started again, aware that time was rapidly running out. An unpleasant smell tickled at his nostrils and he dialed up his olfactory sense, tracking the odor to the office on his right.

"Jim?" A bulky frame filled the doorway then moved in to stand beside him. "You got something?" Taggert asked.

"Joel? Check the office."

"Got it."

Jim turned to follow him, and a piercing beam of light seared his eyeballs, spearing a fiery path through his synapses into his brain. The overload stole all coherent thought. Jim zoned, oblivious to the touch on his shoulder and the insistent voice in his ear.

00000

Blair started awake at the incessant ringing of the phone, and almost toppled off the couch as he reached to pick it up. He settled himself on the edge of the seat and looked at his surroundings blearily.

The loft was in semi-darkness, the sky outside the balcony doors, dim. A textbook lay facedown on the floor at his feet. It must have slipped off his lap when he'd drifted off. How long had he been asleep? Reaching again for the receiver, he identified himself as he pushed his unruly curls out of his eyes.

"Sandburg? It's Simon. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Simon. What's up?" Blair's half-asleep brain had picked up the tight note of concern in the captain's voice, and he shivered.

"Look… Jim's going to kill me for this but… we're at a stakeout at a warehouse on Standfield. Jim zoned and I can't bring him out of it. I think I'm going to need you."

Blair was already pulling himself to a standing position. "I'm on my way, Simon. Which warehouse?"

"Don't be crazy, Sandburg. Even I'm not stupid enough to let you drive. Brown will be there in a couple of minutes to pick you up."

"Okay." Blair was already at the door, pulling his jacket off the hook.

"Is there anything else I can do while I'm waiting?" Simon sounded worried.

"Keep him warm. He loses body heat pretty fast and it's freezing out tonight. Keep talking to him. Keep trying to draw him out of wherever he is."

"Okay."

Blair walked back and hung up the phone, then fished in his pocket for his caffeine pills. He had thought that he'd taken one that morning before he went to the university, but now he wasn't sure. Maybe he'd only thought about it. He had been nervous and jumpy about his interview, after all. If he'd taken one, surely he wouldn't have fallen asleep on the couch. Perhaps he needed to up the dosage. The last thing he needed was to fall on his face the first time he had a chance to be Jim's guide once more. Mike had told him it was safe to increase the dose, as long as he didn't exceed two a day.

Blair put two pills in his mouth and walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Just as he placed the glass back on the sink, there was a knock at the door. Blair moved as quickly as he could to greet Henri, his thoughts now centered entirely on Jim.

00000

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" Blair watched from his seat on the passenger side of Jim's truck as the irate detective paced up and down in front of him. Blair shivered violently, and then discovered that he couldn't stop.

"Here."

Blair smiled gratefully as Jim pulled his jacket from his shoulders and placed it around his own. "Thanks. Why is it so cold? Aren't you cold?"

"It's not that cold," Jim grumbled. "And stop trying to change the subject."

Blair sighed and lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. His headache was back, and was moving into migraine proportions. He huddled further into Jim's jacket.

"Look," he hissed, well aware of the other police officers still bustling about the crime scene. "Some crazy decided to blow up half of the Cascade industrial district and you along with it. You zoned on the smell of the C4 while you were trying to locate the bomb."

"No, some idiot shone a flashlight in my face while all my senses were wide open."

Blair glared at him. His jaw ached from the tension that gripped it. "You zoned. End of story. What did you expect me to do? Take you home and use you for a doorstop? That's providing, of course, there was going to be anything left of you to take home."

"Joel found the bomb and disarmed it," Jim replied stubbornly. "All Simon had to do was keep talking. I would have come out of it eventually."

"Yeah. Right."

"Look, Jim. Don't take it out on the kid," Simon put in as he stepped up beside the detective. "This was my fault. I asked him to come out here."

"You shouldn't have," Jim answered, turning on the captain, his eyes blazing. "Look what happened the other week. He's not up to being back yet."

"For God's sake, both of you shut up!" Blair shouted. He glared at both men. "You're giving me a headache," he grumbled, rubbing at his head again. "I'm right here, and I'm old enough to make my own decisions. Did you at least catch the guy?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah. Seems he decided to hang around on the phone too long and gloat this time. Stockton and Rafe found him in a phone booth outside Holden Park."

"That's good news." Blair pulled himself out of the truck, wincing as the action caused his headache to surge. He stood with his arms crossed over his shivering chest and stared at his partner. "I was not leaving you here to be blown up or stay lost forever in your senses, man. That was not an option, and there was no choice to be made. Now, can we go home, please?"

Jim locked gazes with him for a moment, then bent down and picked up the jacket that had fallen from Blair's shoulders when he climbed out of the truck. He draped it back over Blair and turned to Simon. "You need me any more, sir?"

Simon shook his head. "Go home. Get some rest. Both of you." He turned a gimlet gaze on Blair. "You got away with that little display of temper because I know you're under some strain, Sandburg. Do it again, and you'll be doing the entire Major Crime Department's paperwork for a month. Is that understood?"

"Yes…sir."

Simon nodded, seemingly appeased. Blair clutched Jim's jacket closer around him and climbed back into the truck. He was still shaking, and he knew it wasn't just from cold.

00000

Jim had suggested that they stop for something to eat on the way home, but Blair replied sullenly that he wasn't hungry.

"I'm going to pull into the drive-through here, Chief," Jim announced decisively. "I'm starving. I didn't get lunch." He reached out and placed a hand on Blair's arm and the younger man started then turned shadowed eyes toward him. "You sure I can't get you something?" Jim asked gently. "When did you last eat?"

"I ate." Blair sighed, a long drawn-out, weary sound then smiled a little. "I just can't remember when." He picked at the frayed hole in his jacket sleeve before he spoke again. "Jim, I'm sorry. I'm letting you down. Maybe I should just forget my dissertation, like you said. Look at teaching or something instead."

"Is that what you want to do? You want to give up working with me? I thought we had this all figured out."

"I don't want to give up working with you. I just don't feel like I'm ever going to be fit enough again to do what I used to do. Teach, study and work with you. Tonight… if I'd been there with you, that flashlight beam wouldn't have bothered you, or if it had, I could have snapped you straight out of that zone. Maybe I should give Megan some pointers. If she's going to be your part - partner for a while, she needs to know how to bring you out of the zones."

"No, that's what you do. I'm the sentinel and you're the shaman, remember? Incacha said so. Conner's just a fill-in until the doctor says you're okay to come back."

Blair looked down and studied his hands, allowing his hair to fall over his face, casting his somber features into darkness. "I'm letting you down."

"The only person you're letting down here is yourself, Sandburg," Jim replied. "Cut yourself some slack. How about we talk to Simon in the morning about you coming in and riding a desk a couple of mornings per week? If I go out on something where I need to use my senses, you can coach Conner over the phone."

That finally got a smile. "I guess. I want to come back, and the Dean's agreeable to me going back to teaching two mornings a week. Maybe I just need to pace myself better."

"You're doing great, just don't push too hard. Okay? Now you want a burger?"

Blair shook his head and wriggled around until he'd wedged himself comfortably into the corner. "Just coffee. I'll have a sandwich when I get home."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Eighteen**

Jim pushed open the door to the apartment and turned to take Blair's jacket, but stepped aside quickly when he pushed roughly past him, banging into the edge of the couch as he lunged toward the bathroom. A low moan erupted from Blair's throat and he pressed a hand futilely to his mouth at the same time the first splatters from his retching hit the floor.

Hurrying to his side, Jim placed one arm around his heaving shoulders and pushed the bathroom door open with the other hand. He steered Blair over to the toilet, then, as the other man dropped to his knees, Jim busied himself wetting a cloth with cool water. A few minutes later, Blair sagged back until he fell on his butt, only Jim's hand preventing him from cracking his skull on the tub behind him.

"Easy, buddy. Your coordination's still a little out of whack." Jim crouched down at his partner's side and wiped Blair's sweaty, pale face. Blair reached up to take the cloth from him, so Jim stood again and filled a tumbler with water before helping Blair to his feet. "Here you go. Rinse," he instructed, pushing the glass into a shaky hand.

Blair nodded and did so, then tottered out of the bathroom and into his room on trembling legs. He sat on the side of his bed and scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Thanks," he croaked. "Sorry. I've got a migraine. They always make me throw up."

Jim frowned at him. "Are you sure that's all it is? You don't want me to call Doctor Parry and—"

"I'll be fine," Blair said firmly. He looked up and smiled wanly at his friend. "I'll be fine," he repeated. "I guess it's been a pretty heavy day. It just all caught up with me."

Jim nodded, though his concern lingered. "Lie down before you fall down, Sandburg. I'll make you that sandwich and a cup of tea."

"'Kay. Peppermint tea. It's good for upset stomachs." Blair obediently slid down onto his pillows and Jim bent to pull off his shoes and socks then drew the covers up over Blair's shoulders.

He watched him for a moment longer until he saw Blair's eyes close, then went out to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Cleaning up the evidence of Blair's sickness while he waited for the water to boil, he kept an ear on the spare bedroom and tried to convince himself to stop worrying.

By the time he came back with the sandwich and tea, Blair was deeply asleep. Jim debated waking him up, knowing he'd had little or nothing to eat all day, then decided against it when he thought of the possibility of Blair throwing up in bed. Making up his mind to cook his partner a nutritious breakfast before he went to work the following day, Jim took the food back to the kitchen and wrapped it, then placed it in the refrigerator, deciding that Blair could have it for lunch.

He did his usual rounds of the apartment, closing down and locking up, then checked on Blair once more before wearily climbing the stairs to his own bed.

00000

Waking from a light doze, Jim lay for a moment in confusion, wondering what had disturbed him. The sickly odor of vomit tickled his nose, and he heard Blair padding quickly out to the bathroom again, already retching. Stifling a groan of despair, Jim climbed out of bed and threw on his robe before making his way downstairs.

Blair looked up from his position huddled over the toilet bowl, and Jim winced at his bloodshot, swollen eyes and cracked lips.

"I feel like crap," Blair moaned, misery etched in every fatigued line of his face.

"I'll bet." Jim crouched beside him, turning down his sense of smell as Blair dry-heaved, rubbing a comforting hand down his tense back. He waited until the sickness eased up, then wrapped a blanket around Blair's shoulders and went out to the kitchen to pour a glass of juice.

By the time he came back, Blair was seated on the floor, leaning back against the bathroom wall, with his head tipped back, his matted hair scraped back into a messy ponytail. Sweat dribbled down the side of his face, collecting in the hollow of his throat, but he shivered uncontrollably, his hands clutching the edges of the blanket closely around him. His knees were drawn up to his stomach, and he writhed and moaned as though he was in awful pain.

Squatting down beside him, Jim tried to encourage him to sip some orange juice, but Blair screwed up his face as though he had been offered poison then gagged, and pushed himself up from the bathroom floor to lean over the toilet once more. "Maybe I should just camp out in here," he joked weakly.

"Not a good idea, Chief. I think you should see a doctor. You're getting dehydrated."

Blair shook his head tiredly. He stood, wobbling precariously, one hand planted flat on Jim's shoulder until he regained his balance. Pushing open the bathroom door, he made his way back to his room, not complaining when Jim slid an arm around his waist to help. "It's just a bug or something. I'll see the doctor at the clinic in the morning."

By the time a hesitant sun peeked out from behind iron-gray clouds, Blair was becoming increasingly disoriented, and Jim had already decided to call the doctor. Just as he began to punch in the hospital's phone number, Sandburg walked out of his bedroom. He looked awful.

His hair stuck up in disarray like a russet nimbus surrounding his head. The whites of his eyes were flecked with miniscule hemorrhages, the lids were still puffy and framed with shadows, and his skin had an unhealthy gray caste to it. His torso was bare, and he shivered violently as he shambled to the couch and flopped down, grimacing.

"How are you feeling, Chief?" Jim asked, though he decided it was a stupid question.

Red-rimmed eyes peered up at him from beneath squinted lids, and Blair's mouth turned down in an expression of utter misery. "Can't sleep," he whispered. "My skin hurts." He lifted a hand and rubbed at his forehead. "Everything hurts."

"I think you need to go to the hospital," Jim said. "I was just about to call them."

"No!" Blair staggered back up to his feet and moved toward his bedroom, shaking his head vehemently even as he winced in pain. "I don't need to go back there. I just need to get some sleep. No! Not sleep. She'll get me if I sleep." His eyes widened. "I need my pills."

He turned and staggered back to his room, and Jim followed him quickly, his concern mounting by the second. As he walked into the bedroom, he saw Blair pull a small plastic bottle from his dresser drawer and open the lid.

"What have you got there?" Jim asked, stepping closer. He held out his hand to take the pills from Blair's violently trembling hand. He knew Blair had been taking Aminophylline for his chest infection, but these didn't look the same. Blair pulled his hand back quickly and hid the bottle behind his back.

"They're mine," he said as he collapsed back to sit on the bed. "So I can be Jim's… your Guide again." He blinked owlishly up at Jim, and the Sentinel dialed up his sight to take in Blair's dilated, barely focused pupils, and the bright points of color in his cheeks.

Jim reached out a hand and rested it gently on Blair's forehead, taking it away when Blair moaned and flinched away from his touch. His skin was cool but dry.

Squatting down in front of the other man, Jim cupped Blair's chin in his hand and angled the other man's face toward him. "Blair, we need to go back to the hospital, all right? You're sick."

Blair reached out a hand and rested it against Jim's cheek, patting it clumsily. "I'm sick? Like before?"

Jim shook his head then stood and pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapping it about Blair's naked shoulders. "I don't know if it's like before. We'll just let Doc Carter check you out, okay? And you need to show me those pills, so I can tell the doctor what you're taking."

Suddenly, Blair launched himself from the bed and dove for the door. Jim went with him and had his hands full of a hysterical fighting bundle of frantic energy. "I'll die there, Jim. Don't take me back there, please. Mark died there. She killed him. She'll kill me too."

"No! You're not going back to the Pines, Sandburg. Just to the emergency room." He managed to get both arms around Blair's heaving chest, and dragged him forward until he had him enfolded in a firm but comforting embrace. "I won't take you back there. I promise. Easy, easy."

Blair began to rock violently in his arms, and Jim kept up his litany of soothing words, forcing the rocking to slow and proceed at a more sedate pace. He stroked down the disoriented man's back until he felt Blair's body relax against him, and hiss breathing evened out into that of sleep.

He gently lifted Blair's right hand and unfolded the clenched fingers then removed the small pill container from his unresisting grasp. Turning it over, he was stunned to discover what Blair had in his possession.

Caffeine? Jim shook his head, feeling his own headache beginning to pound. He thought back over the times that Blair had tried to convince him to try natural remedies for his ailments. Some sort of crazy-named root that he was sure would cure Jim's cold and after his hair-raising experience with Nyquil, Jim had wished he'd taken Blair's advice. Blair was almost rabid in his refusal to put chemicals into his body.

'So I can be your guide,' Blair had said. Was that what this was about? Had Blair been trying to bolster his energy with caffeine? The evidence certainly indicated it. Jim rested his forehead wearily against Blair's damp curls and sighed.

Thinking back over every conversation they'd had recently, Blair had been saying that his recovery wasn't moving along fast enough, that he wasn't getting better quickly enough. Jim had been too caught up in work to read between the lines. Blair didn't just help Jim with his senses. He worked alongside him as Jim's partner in every sense of the word, except officially. Perhaps he had unconsciously been putting more pressure on Blair to get back to his pre-illness state.

He realized why every aspect of his job lately had become an uphill battle. Blair wasn't there, smoothing the way, suggesting alternatives when he was at his wit's end in an investigation, advising him how to use his senses, then grounding him as he did so, steeling his stomach and stoically turning away from crime scenes that had some of the most seasoned cops puking their guts out.

Though they tended to strike sparks off each other, Jim knew Megan Conner was a fine police officer. She just wasn't Blair. He and Blair fit together like a hand in a glove. Whatever Jim needed to do, Blair was already figuring out how best to accomplish it before he even voiced his intentions.

Over the past year or so, they'd found themselves finishing each other's sentences, getting up do some chore, only to find the other had thought of it as well. Jim remembered a time when he'd had an almost overwhelming urge for Phad Thai noodles and walked into the loft to find Blair setting the white takeout boxes on the table.

Unsure whether the caffeine pills could cause such a reaction as this, Jim laid the exhausted man down on the floor when he was sure Blair was settled, covered him with the blanket then pocketed the pills. Quickly, he called for an ambulance and unlocked the door.

He lowered himself back down by his ailing friend's side, grasping Blair's twitching hand in his. Suddenly Blair's whole body began to convulse; a slight tightening of the muscles at first, then his back arched up and his jaws clamped down. A low groan erupted from his mouth, white froth spilling from the corners of his lips, turning pink as it mixed with the blood from his bitten tongue. His eyes rolled back so that only the whites could be seen, and his head thumped the floor with the force of the seizure.

Jim got up onto his knees and crouched over him, sliding a hand under his head and pressing one hand to Blair's chest.

"Detective?" He looked up as a familiar paramedic tapped on the door of the loft. "This is getting to be an unpleasant habit," Juan Davide said, his face grim as he entered the apartment and quickly knelt at Blair's side.

Placing a hand on Blair's forehead, he gently restrained him through the rest of the seizure, protecting him from injuring himself on anything and suctioning the choking saliva from his throat. "Hang in there, Blair. We'll have you at the hospital in no time."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Jim?"

Jim stood quickly and made his way to the emergency room desk when Steve Carter called his name. "How is he?" he asked, wasting no time on niceties.

"He'll be okay, Jim. You got him here in time."

"In time?" Jim felt panic claw at his gut. "What do you mean?"

"He was as close to entering a status convulsive state as anyone I've seen," Carter said.

"What's that mean?"

"When Blair was brought in, he was seizing almost continuously, and the anti-seizure medications were having no effect initially. Let's sit for a minute."

Taking Jim's arm, Steve led Jim over to a row of chairs and sat down. He waited for Jim to do the same before he spoke. "The tablets you found in Blair's hand contain very high doses of caffeine. Now, they in themselves aren't necessarily harmful though I don't approve of them at all. It was more a combination of things that got your partner in the condition he's in."

He looked down at the notes in his hand, his eyes quickly scanning the scrawl across the page. "He was already debilitated from the GBS, and the Aminophylline I prescribed for his wheezing can prevent caffeine from being broken down fully in the body, which increases the level in his bloodstream, plus Aminophylline itself can cause those same side effects in certain people. Blair also began taking more and more pills when his body started building up a tolerance to the caffeine. All of this set the scene for him to have a toxic episode due to the caffeine levels in his blood."

"He seemed like he was whacked out on something. He thought I was taking him back to the rehab center. He said his skin hurt, everything hurt, the light hurt his eyes." Jim shuddered, remembering Blair's face as he had succumbed to the poisonous effects of the drug.

"They're all common symptoms of caffeine toxicity," Steve said. "Confusion, light sensitivity, extreme sensitivity to touch. It's like all your senses are incredibly heightened." He sat forward when Jim's face drained of color. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, as he touched Jim's arm.

Jim nodded and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands and closing his eyes. "Yeah. Tired. Shook up." He leaned back and blinked his eyes to clear the fogginess from them. "But he'll be okay?"

Steve nodded. "It'll take some time, and it won't be pleasant either. Caffeine withdrawal might seem like a joke, but for someone coming down off the level that Blair has floating around in his system, it's no picnic. He could have severe headaches, fatigue, drowsiness, irritability, restlessness, vomiting."

"It can't be any worse than what he went through tonight. We got through the GBS together, we'll get through this, too," Jim said. "Can I see him?"

"Just for a minute," the doctor replied, standing up. "He's heavily sedated against the chance of a convulsion though I think that's unlikely now, and he's feeling pretty lousy, so he needs some uninterrupted rest."

Jim nodded and followed the doctor back to the trauma room. Steve stepped aside after pushing open the door. "I'm going to write up his chart and arrange to have him admitted for a couple of days," he whispered. "Don't be long."

Blair was lying on his side on the examination table. Once more an IV dripped fluid into a vein in his left arm and cardiac monitor patches were adhered to his chest. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady, though it hitched now and then on an almost inaudible sob.

As Jim approached the bed, Blair rolled to his back and Jim reached out a hand to ensure the wires and IV tubing didn't become tangled. hE moved his hand up to rest on Blair's forehead, pleased that this time the other man didn't flinch or pull away. Clouded blue eyes opened to look at him, the gaze unfocused and confused before it cleared and a lazy smile crossed Blair's face.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible except to Sentinel hearing.

"Hey, yourself," Jim replied, shifting his hand to grasp Blair's and resting both on the other man's chest. Blair's hand still twitched spasmodically, fine tremors still evident in the tensed muscles of his forearm, though his general appearance was of utter bonelessness.

Leaning in closer, Jim tried to force a smile to his face, but the muscles seemed frozen, and before he could stop it, all of his anguish came pouring forth. He shifted his hands and clenched them tightly around the cold metal of the bed's safety bar. "What the hell did you think you were doing, taking that crap? You just got over being drowned and paralyzed. That wasn't enough for you, you decided to try and kill off a few thousand brain cells as well?"

He saw Blair's face become impossibly paler, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening in shock. Jim clamped his jaws shut so hard he heard the snap, but the angry words still spewed from between his lips. "Do you know…" His voice wavered, and he was finally able to drag in a shaky breath and recover some of his equilibrium before he continued. "Do you know what it's like to watch someone you care about convulse on the floor and not be able to do a damn thing about it?"

The final words came out mangled around a stifled sob, and he turned his head away as tears stung his eyes. There was a long drawn-out silence before Blair finally spoke, so quietly that Jim had to turn back to face him in order to hear the words.

"Sorry. Stupid. I'm so stupid."

Jim let out a shuddering breath and felt his anger flow out with it. "Yeah." He dropped into the chair by the bed, feeling every day of his forty years. "And not just you. I should have taken more notice of what you were saying to me." He sighed and grasped Blair's hand again. "You made a mistake," Jim said. "A dangerous mistake, but it's over and you're going to be fine. But you try anything as half-assed as that again, and I will kick you into next week."

"I was just worried you'd ask me to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Being your guide," Blair replied quietly. "Especially after you zoned. If I'd been there, it wouldn't have happened."

"We don't know that," Jim said. "I think we've both been working so hard at not hurting each other's feelings after the thing with Alex that we've been sending out mixed messages. I want you back on deck with me. I need you with me, but I need to be sure that you're up to being there. That's where I stand. I'd understand if you think it's all getting too much for you, but I want you to stop for yourself, not for me. You've got enough information for your dissertation. It's okay to let go."

"I want to be your partner, your guide," Blair answered, then suddenly his brow furrowed and he moaned softly, bringing one arm up to lie over his eyes.

Jim walked over and turned off the overhead lights, then switched on the smaller lamp over the gurney, angling it away from Blair's face. "Is that better?" he asked.

Blair managed a slight nod then spoke again. "I have this ringing in my ears too. It's so loud, and it won't go away. It's driving me nuts. Everything's too much -- light, sound… Can you take this sheet off? I feel like it's scouring my skin."

He tried ineffectually to push down the covers while keeping his arm still over his eyes, then stopped and dropped his arm, looking at Jim sadly. "Now I know what it's like for you," he whispered. "How can you stand this?"

Jim leaned over him. "I couldn't," Jim said, smiling, "but then you found me. Let's try something."

Blair nodded.

"Lie back and close your eyes."

Blair obeyed the command.

"You ready to try something?"

Blair squirmed uncomfortably and huffed out a small groan, then nodded his head. "I guess."

"All right, I want you to picture a dial."

The arm dropped and Blair opened one eye to glare balefully at his Sentinel. "This is no time for jokes, man," he complained. "It hurts."

Jim nodded. "And I'm serious. Now close your eyes."

Blair stared at him a moment longer, then did as Jim asked.

"All right, deep, slow breaths. That's it." Jim waited a few moments to allow Blair to get into a comfortable rhythm, then spoke again as softly as he could. "Find the dials, Blair. Concentrate until you can picture them in your head. One dial for each sense."

He waited until Blair's breathing was slow and even. His hands still twitched on top of the sheets but his eyes remained closed. "That's good. Now, turn them down, one at a time. All the way down, as far as they'll go." Jim kept up the soothing words until he saw Blair's shoulders and hands begin to relax.

A sudden crash of metal outside the room startled them both, and Blair jumped at the assault on his senses, then screwed his face up in pain once more. He drew in a gasping breath and arched his back. His eyes opened wide and his gaze flittered around the room until Jim captured his face in two gentle hands and stilled the movement.

"It's all right. It's all right," jIM soothed, brushing his thumbs down Blair's cheeks. "Let's start again. Find the dials, Blair. That's good. Turn them down. Doing good, Chief. Doing good."

00000

Jim eased himself down onto the chair beside the gurney and studied Blair's peaceful face. There would be more tough days ahead, he knew, but for now he was content to drink in the sight of his guide at peace and pain-free.

Blair's drowning in the fountain had forged one bond between Sentinel and Guide. Now this experience would make the link even stronger as each had the opportunity to walk for a while in the other man's shoes.

00000

The next three days were as tough as any that had gone before when Blair had been in the throes of Guillian-Barre. Blair was hollow-eyed, craving sleep that came in bursts of an hour or two before he jerked awake, only to repeat the cycle again. His stomach burned with indigestion, and excruciating headaches ambushed him several times a day.

He took to prowling the hospital corridors like a wraith, hoping to calm jittery nerves and ease cramping muscles. Impatience and irritability flared easily with little or no provocation, and he seemed to apologize endlessly, especially to Jim.

Jim kept silent through all of Blair's tirades and childish tantrums, waving away Blair's regretful acknowledgments, though Blair could see what it cost him in the set of his jaw and his shadowed eyes.

One week later, Blair packed his bag and waited impatiently at the desk for Jim to take him home. Steve Carter had given him a clean bill of health, even going so far as to give him permission to return to the university in a few days. Though the caffeine pills had been potent, the effects were short-lasting once Blair's body began to purge them from his system.

Arriving back at the loft, Blair found his restlessness and trepidation returning. Throwing his bag onto his bed, he headed out to the kitchen. "I'm going to be pretty busy once I'm back at school, Jim, and when I come back to the station next week, it's going to be hectic. I thought I might cook up some casseroles and soups, store them in the freezer."

"Sounds like a plan." Jim leaned against the kitchen counter and rested his chin in his hand, striving for a casual effect. "Anything I can do to help?"

Blair thought a moment, then smiled and nodded. Reaching out, he snagged a pen and writing pad and began to scrawl hurriedly. "You can go to the store." He stopped and whirled, opening the refrigerator door, quickly scanning the contents. "There's nothing in here. What have you been eating while I've been gone?" As Jim opened and closed his mouth a few times, Blair shook his head in mock exasperation. "I don't want to know, man. What happened to 'your body is a temple'?"

"I've been worshipping Wonderburger a couple of nights." Jim shrugged sheepishly, looking totally unrepentant. He watched for a moment as Blair turned his attention back to the shopping list. "Go easy, Chief. I don't get paid again for another week."

"Just a couple more things." Blair surveyed the completed list critically, then nodded in satisfaction. "That ought to keep us going for a few meals."

"You want to come with me? Make sure I don't slip into Wonderburger?"

"Nah. I'll run through my lecture notes for my classes while I'm waiting." Jim took the proffered shopping list and reached for his truck keys. "Jim?" The detective stopped at the door and looked back. Blair raised an admonishing finger. "If you even drive past Wonderburger, I'll know."

Jim flipped him the finger and left, chuckling as a hastily wadded up piece of paper hit the closing door.


	20. Chapter 20

Epilogue

**Chapter Twenty**

**Epilogue**

Jim lay in bed and listened to the sounds of his partner moving around in the bedroom below. It had been a long hard journey for both men since the day three months ago, when Jim had pulled Blair's lifeless body from the fountain at Rainier.

Since then, Blair had struggled with recovery made more difficult by the unwelcome side effects of caffeine toxicity. At the same time, both men had battled to resurrect their friendship and strengthen the bond that had been forged between Sentinel and Guide that awful day.

The muted activity below was a welcome sound after the stressful events of the previous couple of months. After spending a week in the hospital, and a few more days at home, Blair was returning to the university the following day. In a week's time, he would actively resume his role as Jim's guide.

Though the doctor had reassured him that Sandburg was well on the way to recovery, with no lasting side effects from the caffeine toxicity that had caused his previous crisis, Jim's protective instincts still hovered just beneath his outwardly calm demeanor.

There had been a couple of nights when Jim had woken to hear Blair pacing below. Unsure whether to go down and insist Blair go to bed and at least try to sleep, but wanting to avoid a confrontation, Jim extended his hearing and relaxed somewhat when he heard Blair reciting some kind of lecture under his breath.

He reassured himself with the thought that Blair had been surviving on three or four hours sleep a night since Jim had known him. Of course, that was before Alex had drowned him, and before he'd contracted Guillian-Barre syndrome.

He tired more easily now, though their regular work-out sessions together had bulked him up a little and increased his stamina. He'd become more introspective too, less garrulous, and Jim would sometimes catch him staring at nothing, caught up in his own personal zone-out. When Jim asked him what he was thinking about, Blair simply smiled and brushed the question off.

He was still somewhat edgy and short-tempered, though Jim wasn't sure if that was the effects of the caffeine pills and Blair's withdrawal from them, or simply that he was impatient to get things back to normal for them both.

A dull thud of what sounded like a book hitting the floor, and then a muffled curse, interrupted Jim's musing. "Sandburg? You want to go to bed already? We've both got an early start in the morning."

"I know that. That's why I'm packing my backpack now. I don't want to be late my first day back."

"Now that is a first." Jim rolled onto his side and punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape. "Go to bed, Sandburg."

"All right. I'm going."

Jim waited and heard the sound of covers being pulled back, the faint bouncing as Blair climbed into bed and spent an interminable length of time wriggling around until he found just the right spot to sleep.

As Jim anchored his hearing to the soothing sound of Blair's heartbeat, allowing it to lull him to sleep, his Guide's soft whisper floated to his ears, bringing a long-absent smile to the Sentinel's lips.

"Thanks, Jim. For everything."

**END**


End file.
